Married at First Sight - a Boeshane Mate Pt 1
by Awatere11
Summary: The TV show led to this Boeshane version. Jack needs a mate to help on the plains od Boeshane and Ianto answered the ad. A mail order mate is not uncommon when companionship and a partner can be needed more than love. If only love had a chance with the harsh land. If only they could admit it was more, let go their past hurts. Will have smut but mostly angst. Happy BDay Ianto
1. Chapter 1

_Boeshane Peninsular, 5175_

Exhausted, knowing he would not sleep for many hours, Ianto Jones leaned

forward to peer from the Transporter window.

The shrill klaxon sounded. Heavy hover fans churned beneath the soles of his feet, faster and faster, mimicking the rhythm of his heart.

Tonight he would lose his virginity.

For the second time.

Ianto sank back in his seat and massaged his pounding temples. He prayed

silently that it would all go well, that he had done the right thing, coming out west.

Searching for reassurance, he pulled open his draw string bag and withdrew the newspaper advertisement.

 _Farmer, Jaxton Harkness, seeks gentle and peaceful mate for simple life on Boeshane Peninsular prairie. Must agree to daily toil and plain home._

Marriage and a simple life was what he'd always wanted, he reminded himself, as he watched two children chase each other up the aisle, screeching with laughter.

A troublesome guilt slithered up Ianto's spine.

Never in all his dreams, had he believed he would reach his goal of marriage through deceit.

But he had no choice, really.

He folded the wrinkled piece of paper and slid his fingers along the crease. If only he knew what to expect from his future husband.

If only he knew what he looked like.

Stuffing the ad back into his bag, accidentally elbowing the sleeping woman beside him, Ianto decided with conviction that a man's looks were of little importance to him now.

He had learned his lesson in Delvon Prime.

This time he would act with common sense.

He gazed out the window at the ocean of golden prairie grass. The rippling land seemed to stretch on and on forever, colliding violently with the cloudless sky.

A person could easily disappear in it.

Amazing that the outer limits were sand when the prairie it framed was so lush. Would his home look like this?

He tilted his head back, closed his weary eyes, and imagined his new husband.

Perhaps Jaxton would be waiting for him with a black Land Hopper. He would touch the brim of his hat when their eyes first met.

Surely he would know him the moment he saw him. Ianto envisioned him wearing a new wedding suit—a gray one with a matching fedora—something similar to the one his father used to wear to church on Sundays.

He wondered if Jaxton was clean shaven. Tadda had always worn a wide, bristly moustache with the ends waxed into a curl.

And gold spectacles.

He smiled as he remembered how he used to smoke a pipe on Saturdays after supper.

Perhaps Jaxton would do the same.

All of a sudden, that tenacious guilt returned and stabbed at his dreamy thoughts.

He had not been completely honest with his future husband. He had kept many things from him. Ianto had come here in search of more than a simple home.

He had come in search of safety.

Sanctuary.

A baby at the back of the Transporter began to cry. Ianto opened his eyes.

He hoped Jaxton would never know how far he had plunged from his father's virtuous pedestal. And he hoped his husband would forgive him for deceiving him on their wedding day.

"I still think you're making a big mistake," Gray Harkness said, his eyes perusing

the dark, damp interior of the sod house.

Jaxton "Jack" Harkness glared with irritation at his brother, who brushed at the top of a wooden box before sitting down. Heaven forbid he should soil his new suit while he handed out his opinions.

Trying to ignore Gray's advice, Jack looked around his one room dwelling.

Rain from the day before had soaked through the walls to the inside. Mud dripped from the ceiling with a tedious _tat-tat-tat_.

The smell of wet earth yawned from every crevice after the rainstorm the night before, the dampness seeping under his clothing.

What a fine mess for his new mate to come home to.

Gray stomped his foot on a dirthopper, kneading it into the dirt floor. "You're

not over Gwen yet."

Shrugging into his fringed buckskin coat, Jack winced at the sound of Gwen's

name.

He hoped after today, he wouldn't hear it again.

His gaze searched the dugout for his worn leather gloves. Taking three easy strides, he swept them up from the nail keg by the door and tapped them against his thigh.

He wondered if he should have shaved.

Too late now, he decided. He'd been working since dawn in the corn field and hadn't realized the time.

"You're not listening to me," Gray went on. "It's only been three months, and you're hardly set up for marriage."

"I'm set up fine. I have land and I have a house." He spread his arms wide so the fringe on his sleeves dangled. "What more could I need?"

"You call this a house?" Gray walked to the sod wall and plucked out a long blade of limp, brown grass. "You advertise in a city paper for a mate, and you expect her to live here?"

Jack clamped his jaw at the insult. He was proud of what he'd accomplished over the past year. He owned this land and all the corn and wheat planted on it. As soon as the harvest machine came, he'd make a handsome profit off his wheat and rye.

Also, the insinuation that he would want another woman. After the last one?

"I said I was looking for someone who could handle the prairie. That someone answered, so there's nothing else to talk about. I need help around here. I need a mate. And I'm done sitting alone on my land like the hermit everyone thinks I am, pining away over…." Still uncomfortable speaking her name, he reached up to rub the back of his neck, warm under the blanket of his thick, unruly hair.

"You were never one to care what other people thought," Gray pointed out, a little too perceptively for Jack's present mood.

He took a deep breath, searching for patience. He succeeded only in reminding himself of the ever-present smell of dirt and grass. Everything was so darn wet.

"I am over Gwen," he said. "I was over her the moment she took me for a fool

and broke our engagement."

He turned his back on his brother. He didn't need this.

Not today. They had a long drive ahead of them and he had vows to think about.

"Look at you," Gray snorted. "You're covered with dust. You look like you just walked off the field. Why don't you at least borrow one of my suits?"

Jack looked down at his faded denims and shabby leather boots. "I _did_ just walk off the field. This is the way I dress, and your suits would never fit me. You know that."

"We could stop off at the clothier—"

Jack raised an eyebrow, wishing Gray would stop making suggestions about his wedding attire. Jack had never intended the ceremony to be anything more than what it was.

A legality.

A moment of silence passed while Jack threw an old gray blanket over the narrow bed and fluffed up the single pillow. Suddenly, his gut wrenched. He was in the habit of living alone.

Soon he'd be sleeping here—sharing his bed—with a complete stranger.

"You don't have to marry this girl today," Gray continued. "You don't even know what she looks like."

"It's not about looks, Gray. In fact, a pretty face clouds a man's judgement. What I need is a capable mate who's not so concerned with fancy clothes and hats and all that other stuff women like." Jack flipped his hair out of his face. "He's going to live out here, miles from town, lighting fires with dry cow dung."

Gray's disapproving gaze swept the room then he pushed his gold spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. "It's not too late to change your mind. You could get to know her first, maybe court her a little. Er … He? Him?"

"I don't have time to court. I'm thirty years old. Besides, if I felt like courting, I'd court someone here in Boeshane Peninsular, instead of bringing him all the way from….uh…" Jack drew his eyebrows together, struggling to remember which newspaper advertisement he'd answered.

"Delvon Prime!" Gray finished for him as he finally accepted that he was gaining a brother, not a sister as first thought. "You brought him from Delvon Prime!"

"Right. Delvon Prime." He took one last look around to make sure everything was in order. It was as good as it was going to get. He reached for his well-worn ivory Stetson and placed it on his head. "Now let's get on the road or we'll be late and he'll be standing around at the station wondering if he got off in the wrong town."

Jack followed Gray through the narrow door, watching his brother duck so his

gray fedora wouldn't graze the low frame.

"I'm sure he'll be wondering that, regardless, when he sees this place," Gray commented.

The two walked into the wind toward the unpainted skipper, aged the colour of a thunder cloud. Hoisting himself into the hard seat, Jack flicked the switches and they lurched ominously into motion. He turned the skipper through the yard toward town with Gray's small skipper in tow.

Jack sighed. Maybe Gray was right.

Maybe he should have waited—at least until the harvest was in. But what was done was done. He'd made an agreement and he wouldn't go back on his word. The man had insisted on coming right away. He'd travelled across the solar system and he had promised him a marriage certificate the day he arrived.

Jack squinted up at the blue sky, removed his hat and swabbed his forehead with a sleeve.

 _Marriage._

He'd never imagined it would come about like this. But recalling his _first_ proposal, he decided it was better this way. He'd made a mistake in choosing

Gwen. She was completely wrong for the kind of life he'd always wanted, but he'd been struck blind by her beauty and charm. Gwen could never have been a farmer's wife. He should have known that from the start.

Perhaps things turned out for the best with Gwen, he thought, absent-mindedly steering the skipper through a deep rut. There was no denying he'd suffered when she left him.

Anger had beaten the drive out of him for days, but it was anger directed at himself for being so foolish. His brain had been in his trousers when he'd proposed.

Not this time, he thought proudly. This time, Jack had a clear set of requirements, and a pretty face was not among them. This time, the marriage would be built on respect and a mutual desire for companionship—things that would last through the years.

Gray's voice penetrated Jack's thoughts. "Did you get him a wedding gift?"

"A wedding gift? Isn't it enough that I paid his fare all the way from Delvon Prime?"

Gray shook his head in that slow way of his. "A mate likes something he can

hold onto. A gift that'll mean something in twenty years when he digs it out of the closet. Why don't you give him the necklace?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Jack exclaimed. "What would I do about the engraving on the back? Draw a line through 'Gwen' and write in the other one's name?"

"Ianto."

"I know his name."

"It would be nice if you could use it when you meet him. Ianto, strange language, his planet has."

"I will. I will."

"And I don't want to hear you complaining if he's not the most beautiful man you've ever seen. You like the pretty ones and that's why you fell so hard for Gwen when she wasn't—"

Jack shot his brother a glare. "I hope my mate's got hips as big as a barn and arms stronger than Big Joe Maclee's. He'll need 'em if he's going to haul water from the creek 'till I get a well dug."

"And when do you plan on doing that?"

Jack clicked more switches and frowned. "When I get around to it."

Gray didn't respond, and Jack could feel his disapproval like a pesky fly.

Being a settlement person and a lawyer, Gray could never understand how much work went into farming. Or how rewarding it could be.

"I just hope you're nice to him today."

"I will be," Jack replied defensively. "And I don't want to hear any more about

it."

The skipper lurched and swayed over a bump in the road and realizing that, come sundown, he'd be a married man.

His chest tightened at the thought of meeting this strange man. He hoped this time he knew what he was getting into.

.

.

.

.

"Next stop, Boeshane City!" the conductor called out, whisking his fingers over the back of each seat as he staggered down the aisle.

Knots twisted inside Ianto's slender body.

He sat forward to see, for the first time, the place that would become his home. It was real now, no longer a fantasy.

He checked to ensure his soft brown hair was neat and tidy, all his buttons were fastened, then pinched his cheeks to summon some colour.

"You look lovely," the woman beside him said. "I'm sure he'll fall in love with you the moment he sees you."

Ianto forced a smile. "How did you know?"

"I saw you reading that ad, and it's not hard to tell how nervous you are. But don't worry. You're a beautiful young man. He'll be pleased, to be sure."

Ianto watched the dust-covered, wooden buildings pass by the window as the Transporter chugged into Boeshane City.

Sagging boardwalks sighed with fatigue under the persistent flow of Peninsular and Settlement folk. The wide main street, muddy from a recent rainfall, lay battered with deep hoof-prints and skipper tracks.

 _Oh gods, they still use horses?_

The Transporter jerked to a tuckered-out halt at the station. Outside the window, a crowd was gathered on the platform, mostly men puffing pockets of cigar smoke out from under their hats.

Ianto took one last quick look, swallowed his apprehension then reached for his bags.

Inching into the aisle, Ianto carried his bags toward the door. When he reached the steps, he squinted into the bright sunlight then quickly raised a hand to shade his eyes.

He searched the unfamiliar faces looking up at him.

Where was the man who had promised to meet him?

The man who would soon be his husband?


	2. Chapter 2

_2_

Ianto took an uneasy step down. Just then, a gust of wind blew into his face and sucked his hat off his head, sending it somersaulting across the muddy station yard.

"Oh dear!" he cried, as he clumsily reached up to hold his coiffed hair in place.

At that moment, he spotted him.

He was pursuing his hat.

His spirits suddenly surged with delight.

It was him. It _had_ to be.

He wore spectacles, a gray suit and a fedora, just as he had pictured him.

He looked very much like his father.

The man picked up his hat and wiped it meticulously with a crisp white handkerchief. When he seemed satisfied it was clean, he turned and walked directly toward him.

"Ianto Jones?" he asked, reaching him and taking his heavy bags.

"Yes, I'm Ianto." he placed his hat back on his head and pushed it back into place.

"Please, come this way." He led him past a small group of men. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Gray Harkness."

Ianto peered at him, confused. Then his stomach dropped. "Gray? I thought you were…uh. Is Jaxton your middle name?"

He stopped and laughed and held out his hand. "You've got it wrong, I'm afraid. I'm Gray, Jaxton's brother. But I wouldn't call him Jaxton, if I were you."

"Why not?" Ianto asked, shaking his proffered hand.

"Everyone calls him Jack. No one's called him Jaxton since…." He paused. "Well, I wouldn't try it."

Ianto felt an uncomfortable jolt of apprehension as he let go of Gray's hand.

"Please, the skipper is this way." Gray led him around the back of the depot.

As they walked arm in arm, Ianto wondered why Jaxton—or Jack, rather— hadn't come to meet him himself. Perhaps he was shy. That must be it, he told himself while fighting a dozen-and-one fears.

That's why he had advertised for a mate instead of courting one.

Well, shy was just fine with him.

In fact, he preferred it that way.

A nice, quiet, reserved husband. Yes, that would be delightful.

Gray nodded his head toward a skipper. "There he is."

Ianto stopped to look, but all he saw was a beat-up box on torn hover skirts.

"Where?" he asked, shading his eyes. Just then, a man stepped out from behind the skipper.

Ianto's breath caught in his lungs. His first impression was that he was clearly in need of a bath and a shave. Had he forgotten this was his wedding day? He wore a white cowboy hat, a greyish blue long coat and a necklace fashioned from animal claws.

 _Animal claws_?

He looked nothing like his father at all.

Fighting the nausea which had suddenly rooted itself in his stomach, he took another tentative step forward.

Jack bent forward to check a hover fan.

"I don't think he's seen us yet," Gray said, sounding apologetic.

In his opinion, Jack was more concerned with his skipper than his arrival. But the extra moment gave him time to rein in his emotions and reconsider this situation.

It was wrong of him to judge him based on his appearance.

He hadn't met him yet. He could be a very polite fellow.

He dropped the hover's skirts and looked up.

Ianto's gaze met his, and a shiver of trepidation skittered through him. He seemed disappointed, as if he were not at all what he had expected.

The sun moved behind a cloud, bathing Jack in shade as he sauntered slowly toward him. Tall and muscular, he moved with surprising grace.

" _You're_ Ianto Jones?" he said.

He swallowed nervously, then struggled to keep his voice from quivering. "Yes."

Gray broke in. "Ianto, this is my brother, Jack. And Jack, this is Ianto."

The large farmer swept his steely gaze down Ianto's body, then back up again to his oversized, purple hat.

"Somehow I can't imagine him hauling water," he said to Gray. "He's no bigger than a beetle bark tree."

"I can haul water," Ianto mentioned uncertainly, but no one seemed to be listening.

Gray shrugged at Jack, and Ianto was sure his eyes said, _I told you so_.

"Throw his bags into the skipper and get in," Jack said to his brother.

While Gray climbed into the back, Ianto stood wondering why this man was so displeased with him.

He'd tried to appear pleasant. For pity's sake, he'd done everything he could to primp and make himself handsome for him.

"Let's go." Jack climbed into the high skipper seat. "The courthouse closes at five."

When he hesitated, he frowned down at him. Heat stole into his cheeks and he suspected he'd turned a vivid scarlet.

"Are you coming?"

Something inside him wanted to say no and make a mad dash for the hills, but the hills, he thought ridiculously, were quite a distance from here.

He stood motionless, letting his eyes wander the flat, windy town.

The sun poked out from behind the cloud, and he had to shield her eyes again to look up at Jack's large silhouette.

This man was less gentlemanly than he would have liked, to be sure, but he was in no position to be fussy.

He would rather take his chances here than back in Delvon Prime with Lisant, who could be on his heels at this very moment.

At least if he married Jack, it would be legal and he would change his name.

If things _didn't_ work out, at least some time would pass and his trail would become a little less visible.

Lisant wouldn't be able to find him.

Of course, he hoped it _would_ work out, that he and Jack could get to know each other and somehow manage some sort of life together. One day, he might even tell him the truth, after enough time had passed.

He scrambled awkwardly into the seat beside him.

"Ye-hah!" he called out, flicking the switch. Without warning, the skipper jerked forward and Ianto's head snapped back.

Ianto bounced and jiggled, using all his muscles to avoid toppling into Jack's lap as he turned the skipper around and headed across the wide street.

He spoke not one word the entire way, and Ianto wondered miserably if he'd just escaped one dreadful situation only to arrive smack dab in the middle of another.

.

.

.

With his backside planted firmly on the crooked skipper seat, his fists clamped around the worn leather wheel, Jack refused to do anything but stare straight ahead.

His head throbbed with a tension he'd not felt in months.

How in the seven hells had he gotten stuck with such a beautiful man?

He needed someone who could gather fuel, empty the stalls and milk the cow. Not to mention helping out with the harvest, and when it came time to slaughter the pig…well, that went without saying.

Hadn't he understood his ad?

What was he going to do when he saw the sod dugout he'd have to live in?

Worse yet, he was exactly the type of man Jack had always found attractive.

His soft brown hair was coiffed but the curls were escaping around the nape of his neck. He had big blue eyes a man could lose himself in, skin the colour of fresh cream and lips the colour of raspberries. And those lush, soft, curves…

 _Aw, hell_.

He didn't want to notice those things because the minute he set eyes on his sod house, he'd no doubt demand to be sent straight back home.

He'd be a fool to think otherwise.

When they turned up Slitheen Avenue, the skipper struck a rock and leaped into the air.

Beside him, Ianto bounced like a jumping bean and nearly landed in his lap.

"Sorry," Ianto said, then quickly righted himself.

All of Jack's muscles went rigid.

His body tightened with a maddening awareness and an arousal in his groin that he struggled to disregard, but it was no easy task.

Ianto seemed so delicate being tossed about, like a butterfly on a sudden unexpected gust of wind.

Gray moved to the front of the skipper bed and sat directly behind them. "Are you tired from your journey, Mr Jones?"

"Just a little," Ianto answered, politely. His leg—somewhere beneath all those layers of coats—bumped Jack's, but he quickly drew it back to a proper distance, much to his relief.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know your travels are over," Gray said. "Until tomorrow, anyway. Then it's a six-hour drive out to the claim."

Jack whipped around. "What do you mean, tomorrow? There's a full moon tonight. We're heading back this afternoon, just as soon as the judge gives us the certificate."

Gray pulled out a white handkerchief and blew his nose. "Well, I took the liberty of booking you both into the Boeshane House for tonight. It's the best hotel in town, and I thought it would be a fine wedding gift, after Mr Jones's long journey."

Jack made no effort to hide his irritation.

This ceremony wasn't supposed to be romantic.

Jack had planned to be up and fed and in the fields tomorrow by dawn.

Now he'd have to spend the morning on the road, wasting even more precious daylight hours.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Harkness." The appreciation in Ianto's voice smacked Jack like a brick.

He turned to look at him, seeing for the first time what a wonderful smile he had.

His eyes were twinkling—at Gray—and his teeth were as straight and white as pure ivory.

Was there nothing ugly about him?

"You're welcome, Mr Jones," Gray stammered like a schoolboy. "And you can call me Gray."

Jack shook his head at his brother's syrupy tone.

"And what do you do, Gray?" Ianto asked.

"I'm a solicitor," he replied. "I have my own office, right here in town."

"How wonderful."

The skipper slowed to a stop outside the red brick courthouse. Jack set the brake and hopped down. As he rounded the two fan skipper, he watched Ianto clumsily wiggle down.

He clutched at the splintery side of the skipper, his other hand holding his enormous shade hat to keep it from blowing off.

His little nose crinkled as he tried to gather his travel coats at the same time.

Jack shook his head at the spectacle—he just looked so plumb ridiculous!—until he noticed Gray clambering out of the skipper to assist him.

Well, he'd be damned if he'd let his brother beat him to it.

Jack hurried toward him and stopped just behind that shapely, wiggling backside.

He watched him for a second. One tiny foot was on the ground, the other leg was bent at an impossible angle with the other foot still on the floor of the skipper.

"Lean back," he instructed.

He wrapped his hands around his narrow waist and lifted his dainty frame to the ground.

Holding him so close, he noticed the clean scent of his hair and the faint hint of rosewater on his skin.

He had to fight the desire to enjoy it.

"Thank you, Mr. Harkness." Ianto's face flushed pink as he smoothed his coats.

It was one of those things that charmed him—a man smoothing his coat. But almost as quickly as the feeling came, he squashed it like a bug under his boot.

"Well, don't expect assistance every time. You're going to have to get used to things being difficult."

Ianto's jaw dropped in surprise and he wished he'd kept his thoughts to himself. But at some point, his mail-order mate was going to have to learn to put away any tendencies toward vanity if he was going to survive out on the plains with prairie fires, wind storms, and fire-hoppers.

He had no intention of letting him spend precious hours of every day in front of the mirror, fussing over himself like Gwen had done.

They started up the stairs together and headed toward the front door. All the while, Jack could feel a slow, heated panic moving over him.

After all his preaching to Gray about the problems with a pretty wife, what in the world was he about to do?


	3. Chapter 3

_3_

Feeling dizzy, Ianto gaped at the large brick building.

Halfway up the steps, he grabbed hold of the handrail.

He could not go through with this. The man beside him was not at all the kind of man he'd imagined he'd be wedding.

Why couldn't it have been someone like Gray?

Panic squeezed him from all angles as they entered the building and climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor. They reached the office at the end of the hall and Jack ushered Ianto through.

As he approached the distinguished judge seated behind a large mahogany desk, he realized he was another step closer to going through with this.

Ianto heard footsteps behind him and felt Jack's looming presence like a sacking bag about to be tossed over his head. He was standing too close, trapping him in this stuffy office.

He couldn't breathe! He had to call this off. It wasn't too late until the papers were signed.

Turning on the braided carpet to face him, he sucked in a quick breath. He stood before Ianto like a huge, stone wall, thick and solid.

Ianto swallowed, staring at his animal claw necklace, realizing he was taller than he had thought. The top of his white linen shirt had fallen open. He could see his bare neck, glistening with perspiration, and it made his mouth go dry.

He flipped his black hair back, revealing brass buttons on the shoulders of his faded coat.

"You all right?" Jack asked. "You look like you need a glass of water or something."

Nodding, Ianto dropped him gaze to the floor. He wished he were anywhere but here.

"Gray, get him something, will you?" Jack led him to a green upholstered sofa where he rested his hands on Ianto's shoulders and firmly sat him down.

He knelt before him, then picked up a few papers from the desk and fanned him, with a gentle breeze.

Ianto looked up to meet his gaze.

 _Goddess._

There was something very intense about the way he was looking at him.

It caused a strange, heated fluttering in his belly, and he wondered if there might be some hope for them, as a married couple. Perhaps there was some kindness in this man, after all, although he wasn't sure _that's_ what was causing the fluttering sensation.

He _was_ rather handsome and charismatic upon closer scrutiny.

Quite astoundingly so. His lips were full, his face chiselled to a fine, masculine perfection, and those blue eyes, watching him with concern, were absolutely mesmerizing.

And the cleft in his chin looked so …. Kissable.

Struggling to gather his wits, Ianto wet his lips and took a deep breath.

He tried to think logically.

Surely this was the right thing to do.

People travelled west all the time to marry people they'd never met. Jack had said in his advertisement that he wanted someone who would enjoy a simple life on the prairie, and that's exactly what he wanted, wasn't it?

To live somewhere remote.

Far away.

To live an honest life with purpose.

He just hadn't imagined, in all his childish fantasies, that he would be marrying someone so muscular, intimidating and rugged. So much like this rough, untamed land. There was something dangerous about him.

It made his heartbeat quicken, his cheeks flush with heat.

Gray hurried into the room with a glass of water and handed it to him. He sipped self-consciously, feeling the eyes of each man watching him.

"Perhaps some air would do you good," the judge suggested, opening the window.

A fast prairie gale dashed inside and swept some papers off the desk. The white sheets floated and rocked in mid-air before Ianto's eyes.

He felt dizzy, like he was rolling right along with them, falling and swirling into a dark, unfamiliar black hole.

"Darn wind never stops." The judge pressed his palms to the desktop to hold down what was left.

Still kneeling in front of Ianto, Jack waited for him to finish the water, then took his empty glass and set it on the desk.

Ianto stared blankly at his strong facial features—the square jaw, the dimpled chin, the long lashes like an awning over his blue eyes. The longer he looked at him, the more handsome he seemed to be.

He suddenly found himself wondering with a strange inner excitement what his kiss would taste like.

Would it be different this time?

Would his touch be gentle?

Or would he be rough?

Jack touched his forehead with the back of his hand, and Ianto instinctively jerked back. Jack hesitated, his eyes narrowing with a dozen questions.

Surprised at his impulsive reaction, he tried to relax and allow him to touch him. He seemed to be waiting for his readiness, and again he laid his hand on his forehead.

"You're a little warm."

"It's just the heat," he explained.

The judge laughed his voice deep and booming.

"Happens all the time," he joked. "But usually it's the groom. Some days they drop like flies, face down onto the rug."

Gray joined in the judge's laughter, but Jack kept his attention focused on Ianto.

"You all right, now?" he whispered privately to him, and the sound of his voice

brushed over him like velvet. "It's not too late to change your mind."

Suddenly, beneath his clothes, his flesh erupted in a strangely pleasant sensation of goose bumps. He felt protected and cared for—something he hadn't felt in a very long time, not since his parents died.

With that realization, his heart began to slow its rapid pace, and he sensed that beneath the hard, uncouth exterior, this man may very well be decent, like his father.

And he might make an excellent husband—for he was the perfect embodiment of exactly what he had been looking for.

 _Protection_.

It was all he needed to lift himself up off the sofa.

"I'm fine," he heard himself saying.

"Let's go ahead."

.

.

.

.

Standing in front of Judge Fraser, gazing into the liquid depths of Ianto's stormy eyes, Jack was surprised by his sudden lack of cold feet.

He'd seemed so innocent just now, sitting on the sofa looking up at him, desperate for him in a way he couldn't quite understand.

Gwen had never looked at him like that. No woman _ever_ had. He felt an inexplicable urge to take Ianto into his arms right then and there, and tell him everything was going to be all right.

He would make sure of it.

Jack glanced at the judge and recalled his earlier vow to avoid the kind of attraction he had felt for Gwen. After the lesson he'd learned, he hadn't thought himself capable of instant heated desire ever again.

So why was his body betraying him with such a powerful surge of anticipation?

The judge turned a page and startled Jack out of his thoughts, reminding him to listen to these important, life-long words.

"Repeat after me," Judge Fraser said, his gaze directed at Jack. "I, Jaxton John Harkness, take you, Ianto Gareth Jones…."

Feeling as if he were floating, Jack repeated the words, ending with "to love and to cherish, until death us do part."

Great God, what was he saying?

 _Until death do us part!_

 _To love and to cherish!_

He tried to remember Ianto's letter from a few weeks ago. It had convinced him he was the right man. He'd mentioned his parents' recent passing, his loneliness, and he'd thought even before meeting him that he possessed a purity that Gwen had not.

Looking at him now, he sensed an undeniable virtue and a sense of loyalty to family—which was a quality he admired and something he would treasure deeply, for he too had always been steadfastly loyal to those he cared about.

Wasn't it possible that another beautiful man could be everything he had wanted Gwen to be?

Wasn't it possible he could trust Ianto?

He listened to Ianto's shaky voice repeating the same words he had spoken. He sensed his anxiety—which was only natural under circumstances such as these—but there was no turning back now.

As he slipped the ring onto Ianto's slim finger, he promised himself he would build him a real farmhouse just as soon as he brought in the harvest. With any luck, they'd move in before the first snow. He would finally sell that necklace he had bought for Gwen.

His hopes and dreams belonged with Ianto now.

Oh, how quickly a pretty face could alter a man's convictions….

The judge said his final words and Jack gazed down at Ianto's expression in

wonder. His eyes were wide and unfathomable, his cheeks flushed like two sweet, ripe strawberries.

They were husband and husband now.

His heart pounded hard enough to knock him over.

Jack felt Gray nudge him in the back, then he looked at the judge and realized everyone was waiting for the kiss.

Jack let his gaze fall back to Ianto's frightened face.

How was he to do this?

They were complete strangers to each other.

Taking a deep breath, praying for a lifetime of courage, he leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to Ianto's, all the while resisting the desire to let his tongue wander inside.

He would have enjoyed lingering there a while—with his soft, luscious body melting into his—but when arousal grew too fast, he pulled back.

Such things should be enjoyed in private, he knew, and thankfully that moment was near.

 _Thank you, Gray, for booking us a room at the Boeshane House. I didn't think I'd want that, but damn, I do._

Simply the idea of his wedding night was enough to make Jack weak with anticipation for what lay ahead.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Ianto glanced across the small round dinner table at his new husband and could barely swallow. One part of him wanted only to move on to the wedding night and get it over with as soon as possible.

Another part of him wanted to put it off forever.

Surely when Jack came to him in the dark, he would know he was not the first.

Lisant had told him men knew these things….

He had to be strong, he told himself. He had to get through this. Perhaps his previous experience would not make a difference to Jack. After all, there was no love between them. He merely wanted a helper on his farm.

Silverware clinked against china plates all around them. Conversation hummed and laughter bellowed from the back corner of the restaurant. Ianto shifted in his seat then cautiously looked across at Jack again to see if he'd noticed how little he'd eaten.

To his dismay, he was staring at him over the fragrant, colourful vase of native flowers.

Their eyes locked and held.

For that brief second, He wondered what in the Goddess's name he was thinking.

Then without warning, self-consciousness intervened.

He dropped his gaze, picked up his fork and scooped up some mashed potatoes swabbed in dark gravy. Chewing furiously, he knew his face had gone red as a ripe tomato.

Jack probably wasn't surprised.

His behaviour was what a husband would expect from a nervous, naïve bride on his wedding night.

The problem was, Ianto was not naïve.

He knew fully what to expect in the marriage bed.

And it wasn't something he was looking forward to.

After dinner, Ianto dawdled over his coffee while they discussed nothing more interesting than the weather and Ianto's long journey. Soon the conversation slowed.

His coffee was cold and Ianto knew the time had come. He breathed deeply, trying to calm the nervous knots in his belly.

Jack slid his chair back across the floor. "Are you finished?"

Ianto forced a smile and nodded.

"Shall we go upstairs, then?" he asked, offering his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

_4_

Ianto placed his hand into Jack's and allowed him to help him out of his chair.

They walked arm in arm, upstairs to room 21, where his new husband inserted a large metal key into the lock and pushed the squeaky door open. Standing in the hall, unable to take even a small step forward, Ianto peered inside the tiny hotel room.

One flickering kerosene lamp produced a smoky light.

A tall rosewood dresser stood against the far wall, holding a blue and white jug and bowl, a closed vid-screen and some local fancies. But the most notable piece of furniture, taking up the most space in the room, was the cast-iron bed.

He felt a rush of fear.

"Make yourself at home," Jack said, gesturing with an outstretched arm and probably wondering why he was hesitating.

After a few seconds, he took that giant step over the threshold.

Once inside, he turned around, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His rugged-looking husband was leaning one shoulder against the door frame, both his hands in his front coat pockets.

He swept a seductive gaze down the length of Ianto's body and then let it rise to meet his.

There was a tingling in the pit of Ianto's belly, but what was causing it?

Fear?

Dread?

Or was it an indecent thrill …

Because he was very handsome and so much more of a man than what he had expected. And soon those big, work-roughened hands would be working their way over his naked body.

Ianto swallowed nervously at the thought.

Would it be different this time?

"Aren't you coming in?" he asked, feeling the intensity of his stare.

He stepped back into the hall. "Not just yet. I thought you might like some time to yourself after your trip. I reserved the hotel tub for you."

He rubbed his jaw. "And I thought I might get myself a bath and a shave, too. Gray is expecting me at his house. It's just a few blocks away. I'll come back in an hour?"

Ianto nodded without thinking and then watched him close the door. With knees trembling, his breath coming in short gasps, he listened to the sound of his husband's heavy footsteps fading down the hall.

Then silence boomed in his ears and he collapsed onto the bed.

.

.

.

.

Outside the hotel, Jack stood a moment, staring up at the star-speckled sky. He listened to the saloon piano clanging a tinny tune down the street and found himself missing the quiet night-hiss of prairie grass.

So much for avoiding beautiful mates in fancy shirts and floppy hats, he thought as he breathed an autumn fragrance in the late August air. He'd sat at dinner, watching his husband fidget in his chair like a child in church.

 _He was nervous about tonight, poor thing._

Jack was plumb scared out of his wits. Ianto was too, he supposed.

He'd never been with a virgin before.

All of a sudden, a case of the jitters hit him. He hoped he would make it pleasant for Ianto, even though he knew he probably couldn't, no matter how hard he tried.

Gentlemen didn't usually enjoy it the first time.

Or so he'd heard.

He pulled his gaze from the blanket of stars overhead and started walking toward Gray's house. Maybe the bath would relax him a bit. He sure as hell hoped so.

.

.

.

.

Ianto sat up in bed wearing his light pink cotton nightshirt, buttoned tightly at the neck.

Good Lord, he felt like he was choking.

The nightshirt had been a gift from Lisant on that horrible night in the hotel, and it stung that he must wear it now.

But what else was he to do?

Wait naked in bed for his husband?

Certainly not.

By the time he heard those boots tapping softly down the hall, he was nearly frozen with fear.

The key clicked in the lock, the doorknob turned, and the door slowly creaked open.

The time had come.

He was alone with his new husband, and he expected the marriage to be consummated.

"Sorry I'm late," Jack said quietly, closing the door behind him.

He stared at Ianto only briefly, removed his hat, then turned and shrugged out of his coat.

Ianto said nothing. He couldn't. All he could do was sit up against the pillows, biting his thumbnail, taking in the details of his appearance in the flickering lantern light.

He turned his back to Ianto while he pulled the animal claw necklace over his head, set it lightly on the chest of drawers, then unbuttoned and stripped off his loose, white shirt.

Sensations of awe exploded within Ianto at the sight of his bronze, muscular back.

He was large and strong. Bigger and stronger than Lisant—a thought that provided him with some peace of mind in some ways—for he had come here in search of a protector.

But when Jack got into bed with him, he would be very heavy on top. He would feel trapped.

Confined.

Looking away, he shivered remembering what had come after Lisant had removed his shirt. At least this time, he knew what to expect. He had time to prepare himself, mentally.

This was not that.

This was a new life.

And Jack was not Lisant.

Jack took three slow, sultry steps toward the bed. "There's no need to be afraid. I'll be as gentle as I can."

 _Gentle?_

Ianto's voice shook as he grasped for words. "We barely know each other."

He came closer, tilting his head. His expression was different from before, when he'd first looked at him at the Transporter station with those callous blue eyes. Now his expression was encouraging, reassuring.

But no amount of reassurance would change what he was about to do to him.

He raised a knee to the bed and crawled cat-like across him to lie on the other side.

A faint scent of musk touched his nose.

"I hope that by tomorrow, we'll know each other better," he replied in a soft voice.

He settled down and cupped Ianto's chin in his hand. "Can I kiss you, Ianto?"

Trembling, he nodded and then closed his eyes to prepare for the feel of his mouth upon his. His heart beat fast in his chest, his mind alive with horrible expectations.

But when his hand caressed his cheek, then moved like a feather to his ear and played in the wavy curled hair he'd just finished combing, he found himself feeling warm and a little less afraid.

Then his lips moved over Ianto's like a whisper, carefully at first.

Ianto quivered at the unexpected tenderness of it all, the flavour of his mouth, the unanticipated desire he was feeling. His lips parted Ianto's in a smooth, sweeping motion, and his tongue moved into his mouth.

A sensual response awoke deep within Ianto.

His body was beginning to relax, his muscles letting go of their resolve to resist this.

If only the rest of it could be as satisfying as this kiss, he thought. If only they need not go further.

Jack drew back and wet his lips, his hand still playing in the tendril of hair over his ear.

"That was nice," he whispered. "Would you like me to lower the lamp? Or would you prefer I leave it burning?"

"No," he blurted out too quickly. "I'd like it to be dark."

He leaned away and lowered the wick in the lamp beside them. The room went black, and Ianto said a silent thank you to be spared the expression on his face when the truth struck its inevitable blow.

Ianto felt him lift the quilt to climb under, and gathered from his movements that he was removing his denims.

"Come. Get under the covers with me," he said.

Ianto's eyes adjusting, he sat forward while Jack removed the extra pillows and tossed them to the floor. Ianto reluctantly inched down until his head rested on the pillow.

For a moment nothing happened. He had lain on his back and his husband was simply lying on his side, resting his cheek in his palm, propped up on one elbow.

"What wrong?" Ianto asked, worrying he could see that he was hiding something.

"Nothing. I just want to look at you." Then he rolled on top of him.

Ianto gasped, but caught his breath when Jack lingered there, his hands again swirling through his hair. After a few seconds, as if he were allowing him time to prepare himself, he lowered his face and kissed him again.

 _Ah, the kiss_. He did like the kissing.

Butterflies danced within Ianto as Jack brushed his lips across his cheek, down his jaw and then nipped at the sensitive skin at his neck. Gooseflesh tingled down Ianto's side.

He pulled gently at the ribbon on his nightshirt and unfastened the tiny top buttons.

Jack's lips journeyed slowly across his collarbone as he stared through the darkness at the ceiling.

"You're trembling," he whispered, pulling the nightshirt down over his shoulders.

"But there's no need to be afraid, Ianto. I promise I'll go slow." Jack looked down at him and Ianto wondered frantically if he should just tell him the truth now.

Then he kissed him again, his warm tongue twirling around his. Emotions surged through his body, his blood became liquid candy in his veins.

He sat back on his heels and removed the nightshirt. Then he settled his weight upon him.

"Ianto, I'm glad you came here. I didn't think I would be, because I've gotten used to being alone. I thought I just wanted a helper on the farm, but maybe there's a chance we could be more to each other." He paused. "I didn't expect someone like you. You're very beautiful."

For a brief moment, while nothing but his body and his words seemed real, Ianto felt transported to a new life—to a new beginning where he could, perhaps, become a different person.

He could forget about the old life, make a fresh start, and perhaps there could even be love for him here.

Then Jack shifted, and all at once he felt the silky tip of his arousal poised where the pain had been last time.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered. "It will only hurt this once."

But how could he not be afraid?

What if, as soon as he learned his secret, he would shout at him for lying to him, for involving him in his stupid, stupid mistakes?

He didn't know much about Jack.

What if he became violent?

"I'm nervous."

He kissed the tip of his nose. "That's only natural."

But he didn't understand. He didn't know why he was afraid.

He continued to kiss his neck, and soon, his mouth reached his nipple where he used his tongue to stimulate his passions and help Ianto open up to him, at least physically. His mouth was like some sort of drug that made Ianto forget all his regrets and anxieties.

What a glorious escape it was.

For a long while, he relaxed into the pleasure of his touch, sighing with delight every time he kissed and suckled, or used his strong, warm hands to stroke him.

But then, the inevitable occurred.

His hand slid between his legs to the thick manhood straining there and Ianto gasped, for there was no turning back now. He would know very soon, as he stroked and explored, that he had not come to him as an untouched man.

There had been another, before him.

Jack's head drew back and he looked him in the eye.

Ianto blinked a few times, while Ianto's belly turned a somersault.

 _Does he know?_

 _I should tell him now_. _I should try to explain._

 _But how?_

Slowly, with a slight frown, Jack settled his weight upon him, positioned himself for penetration, and slid easily into his slicked, heated depths.

He drove all the way in, very deep, and continued to watch his face in the darkness as he held himself there, inside him.

The dreamlike trance he had been enjoying moments ago was all gone now. Ianto was alert and aware of the physical sensation of his body inside him, without the pain he had known last time.

But what was he thinking?

Heart racing, Ianto clutched at his husband's broad shoulders, waiting for him to say something.

Seconds ticked by.

Did he even know?

Then he spoke softly, without emotion, and Ianto's heart sank.

"I'm not the first," he said, his body perfectly still.


	5. Chapter 5

_5_

Suddenly, Ianto was overcome with regret for having succumbed to his desperation, for having led this man to believe that he was an innocent with no past.

He was ashamed of himself for the letter he had written, the lies he had told.

"No," he replied simply, for he couldn't possibly begin to explain.

Not now, when he was so deep inside him and he was breathing heavily and beginning to perspire, fighting to hold still.

But what else was there to say?

The whole story was sickening and complicated, and there were things he still didn't want him to know.

Things he hoped he would _never_ know.

All that mattered in this moment was that he was not a virgin, and now he knew that part of it, at least.

If he wanted to annul the marriage, so be it.

He wouldn't protest, for he owed him that. But he hoped he would _not_ wish to send him away, for he was feeling things presently that he had not expected to feel.

Passion, for one thing.

And a desire to go with him to his farm on the prairie.

To feel safe in his protection.

If only he could forgive this part of it.

Growing uneasy, Ianto shifted slightly on the bed, which caused a hint friction down below where their bodies were joined.

Everything was so hot and slicked down there from the lube Jack had used.

It felt like liquid fire.

He wiggled his hips slightly beneath his weight, and Jack let out a small groan.

Then he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and began to move in a steady rhythm, in and out, slow at first, then gradually faster.

Ianto told himself the worst was over and it was alright to relax now and enjoy the sensations. He was his lawful husband, and he had kept his promise to be gentle.

Most importantly, _he knew_.

About this part, at least.

Soon, the ecstasy returned and his muscles loosened and tingled, his skin seemed to melt into his as they made love in the darkness.

He realized in that moment that his previous experience had been nothing like

this.

Nothing at all.

Tonight, it had been right, for Jack had taken the time to pleasure him, to soften him and help Ianto relax, before he entered him.

His hand slid around Ianto's length and squeezed, pulled and teased.

The sensations reached a heady, overwhelming pinnacle, and he shuddered unexpectedly as physical delight poured through his body.

Jack tensed and went rigid in his arms.

A sound escaped him—a sound that could only mean pleasure as he had just known it. He throbbed within and he knew they had completed the marriage act.

It was consummated.

Perhaps he had even planted a child in his male womb.

That thought filled him with hope.

He relaxed on top of him, heavier now, but surprisingly, he didn't mind. His heart was no longer racing with anxiety. Their bodies seemed glued together with heat and perspiration as they lay in silence, until Jack withdrew and rolled off him, leaving Ianto suddenly exposed to the chilly bedroom air.

.

.

.

.

Jack lay motionless in the dark, listening to his mate's breathing.

He draped his wrist over his eyes. He had thought….

Hell, he didn't know _what_ he had thought.

Why was he so surprised?

He knew nothing about this man in bed beside him. He had answered an ad in a newspaper, for pity's sake. Why should he have expected him to be a virgin, and what did it even matter?

He had never promised such a thing in his letter, not specifically, nor had he asked, or implied that it was a requirement. He had simply assumed it because he had said he attended church regularly and lived with his parents until their deaths recently.

How could a man possibly know what another man was truly about? He wondered solemnly.

He couldn't.

It was as simple as that.

Jack should never have presumed anything about Ianto.

He simply had to accept the reality—that he was a stranger to him and that he had led an independent life before coming out here to join him on his claim.

And obviously, there had been another man, or perhaps more than one.

He felt a spark of jealousy, even though it shouldn't matter.

There was no love between them.

Love and passion wasn't even something he'd _wanted_ when he'd placed the ad.

Why, then, was he wanting to hit something when he imagined him in bed with someone else?

Had he loved the man who had been his first?

Where was that man now?

Sitting up, Jack dropped his feet to the floor, squeezed the edge of the mattress and found himself wishing he could have simply taken Ianto without any expectations, without feeling so hopeful about the sort of marriage they might have.

He should have known better than to let down his guard.

.

.

.

.

Rolling onto his side, Ianto tried to focus on Jack through the darkness. He sat on the edge of the bed, his broad back to him, his hair dishevelled.

Ianto's mind slashed through a thorny thicket of unanswered questions.

Was this the beginning of the end?

Did he realize now that he had kept secrets from him, that he was not trustworthy, and would he change his mind about having Ianto as his mate?

Would he annul the marriage first thing in the morning and send him back to Delvon Prime?

His heart began to race again.

It burned inside his chest.

He pulled the quilt up to cover his nakedness. "Is everything all right?"

"It's fine," he coolly replied.

Jack rose to his feet, his nude body stunningly beautiful as he crossed the room to get dressed. All Ianto could do was stare in awe at the strong arms, the firm muscled back, and the sinewy thighs as he picked up his trousers and pulled them on.

Ianto leaned up on one elbow. "Jack, I…."

"You don't have to say anything. It doesn't matter. Just get some sleep. You've had a long day." He pulled his shirt on over his head. "I'm going for a walk."

Ianto lay back down, wondering why his response felt a dozen times worse than what he had feared earlier—that he might shout at him in anger, or become violent.

Instead, he appeared hurt and disappointed in him.

Heaven help him.

He hadn't imagined it would be like this. But in all honesty, he hadn't give much thought to how Jaxton "Jack" Harkness would actually _feel_ about him.

All he had been to Ianto—until the moment he stepped off the Transporter—was an impersonal, printed advertisement in a newspaper, which had allowed him to conjure up some sort of fantasy life where he would be safe and protected.

And he'd been so desperate to escape his current life—to start fresh somewhere new.

Jack moved like a wraith across the room, and he understood that he needed to be alone. With any luck, his disappointment would wane after a few hours.

Surely when he considered it more thoroughly, he would remember that their courtship consisted of two short letters to arrange everything, nothing more.

If he'd wanted a virgin for a mate, he could have specified that in some discreet way, but he didn't.

The only thing he'd specified was that his potential mate be a hard worker, which Ianto fully intended to be.

Hoping with quiet desperation that Jack would view the situation from that perspective, he watched him shrug into his buckskin coat. He noticed with some relief that he was leaving his claw necklace on the chest of drawers. At least he planned to return.

Without looking back, Jack walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

.

.

.

.

.

The next morning, Ianto opened his eyes to bright sunlight streaming in through the white lace curtain, painting dappled shadows on the pink-and-white patterned quilt. The exhaustion from endless days on the Transporter seemed determined to linger in his weary bones and muscles.

He stretched his arms over his head and pointed his toes, trying to recall what it felt like to be free of fear, and then realized with a jolt of alarm that his husband's side of the bed was empty.

Ianto sat up, his eyes darting to the chest of drawers.

The claw necklace was gone.

Tossing the covers aside, he got out of bed and crossed to his bags, pulling the large one to one side. He flipped it open and pulled out what was on top—the purple shirt he'd worn yesterday.

He had to find Jack and make things right, because the last thing he wanted to do was find himself on a Transporter back to Delvon Prime.

Just then, he heard a key slip into the metal lock in the door.

 _Good Lord._

What if Jack had abandoned him and the hotel manager had come to throw him out? He wasn't dressed yet! And he had no money. This was all too familiar.

There was no time to pull the shirt over his head. He could only hug it fast to his body, hiding all but his bare shoulders.

A knock sounded, and the door opened.

Suddenly finding himself staring at the grey coat and tousled dark hair that belonged to his husband, Ianto exhaled a breath.

"Skipper's ready." He stepped all the way into the room and shut the door behind him before looking up from under the brim of his white Stetson.

His cool gaze flicked from Ianto's eyes down to his feet, then back up to his eyes again. "Hurry and dress yourself. We need to get on the road. And don't worry about breakfast. I had them pack us something to eat on the way."

With that, he was out the door again, leaving Ianto frozen in place, heart pounding like a hammer while he prayed that this meant he was willing to forget about their first night as husband and mate, and simply start over.

.

.

.

.

Jack stood by the skipper, one hand on his hip, the other holding onto his hat, tapping it against his thigh. He watched and listened with annoyance to a pack of dogs across the street, barking and howling at each other.

He wished they would quiet down for just one minute so he could think about how he was going to move past this awkward beginning with his mail-order mate, who had proven himself to be not quite what he had thought.

Ten irritating minutes passed before he spotted Ianto walking out the front door of the hotel, shading his eyes with his delicate hand while he perused the street, searching for him.

For a moment he just stood there, letting him search, until he finally spotted him and seemed to sigh with relief.

He noticed he wore the same suit he'd worn yesterday—the purple thing with the pinstripes, which could serve no sensible purpose when he plopped himself down on the stool to milk Alice.

Gathering his resolve, he approached Ianto and took his bag. He carried it to the skipper, and then helped him up onto the seat.

"I came right down, thinking you were in a hurry to go," Ianto said, adjusting his travel coats around himself. Jack looked into those pretty blue eyes and reminded himself not to get lost in them again.

"I appreciate that," he said. "Now let's get on the road."

,

,

,

,

Out on the windy prairie, Jack pulled the skipper to a slow halt.

Ianto's insides reeled. Why was he stopping? Was this sick feeling in his stomach about to become justified?

Jack removed his hat, raked his fingers through his hair, and donned the hat again. Squinting toward the west, he leaned back in his seat. "I know it ain't exactly proper to talk about this sort of thing, but I don't rightly enjoy brooding about things either—especially if they're just misunderstandings, and right now I can't seem to get something out of my mind."

"What is it?"

He looked directly at Ianto. "I want to know why you looked so nervous last night when…You had me thinking you'd never…"

He paused, feeling like he'd been made a fool of. "Not that it matters. Your past is your business, not mine, but why were you acting so nervous if you'd done it before? Were you trying to trick me?"

The calm, matter-of-fact tone of his voice did little to ease Ianto's nerves.

"No, I wasn't trying to trick you. I truly was nervous because I was afraid of what you might think of me when you found out you weren't…" he paused. "The first. I was afraid you'd be angry, or disappointed, which obviously, you are."

Jack glanced up at the sky. "I'm not disappointed. It's not like we were marrying for love. I just don't like being misled."

"I didn't mislead you," Ianto replied, feeling his ire rise for the first time. "What was I supposed to say? It's not exactly a proper thing to talk about. And you didn't ask."

He sat in silence a moment, as if contemplating that. "Let's just forget about it.

You're here, we're married, and now we're going home."

He made a move to flick the switch, but Ianto's hand came up to catch him, to rest on his soft sleeve. He lowered the hand and looked at him.

"I'm sorry you're upset," he said.

"I'm not upset," he insisted. "Just tell me one thing."

He slapped the switch lightly and set them in motion again. "How many were there, before me?"

The implications of the question stung and offended him, and he suspected that was his intention.

"That's hardly a polite question." he paused, hoping he would back down and maybe apologize, but he remained silent, waiting for his answer.

"Only one," Ianto finally said.

He drove the skipper in silence and then he looked into his eyes again. "Did you love him? Do you _still_ love him?"


	6. Chapter 6

_6_

His words came as a surprise. Ianto wanted to smooth things out between them, to set them back on track, but what was the correct answer?

To tell his husband that he loved another man didn't seem right, but to say that he didn't, and never had….

"Yes," he softly replied, lowering his gaze to his lap. "I believed I did."

In all his innocence, he'd truly believed he _had_ loved Lisant.

At least at first.

Though now, he wasn't certain what that word meant, because clearly he had not known who and what he truly was on the inside.

He knew nothing of his heart.

Jack slapped the controls to hurry the engines on the bumpy road. "How long has it been since you've seen him?"

Ianto stared. He'd done enough lying, so come what may, he decided to tell Jack the truth.

"It's been three weeks."

"Three weeks!" He pulled the skipper to a hard halt, and leaped out of the skipper. He strode off, across the grass, and then stopped about twenty yards away, his back to Ianto, his hands braced on his hips.

He was shaking his head.

 _Here we go. He's going to take me back to Boeshane and leave me in the street with nothing but my regrets and my travelling bag. Which, I suppose, is exactly what I deserve._

Squeezing his eyes shut, Ianto tried to think practically. It wouldn't be so bad.

He could find work in a restaurant—he had experience—and start his own life somewhere else.

Alone.

This dream of being married, having children and a husband who would protect him, and living a simple life on the prairies didn't seem to be working out too well for him.

Ianto opened his eyes.

Jack was now sitting down in the grass, his elbows resting on his knees.

Ianto climbed out of the skipper and hopped to the ground. The wind sailed through the rippling grasses, hissing like a snake, blowing loose curls against his neck. If nothing else, he owed Jack a choice, a way out of this marriage if he wanted it.

He knew why _he'd_ been so quick to agree to become a mail order mate— he'd needed to get away from Lisant and start a new life—but maybe Jack regretted being so hasty.

If so, he would ask him to take him back to Boeshane, and he would agree to an annulment.

How bad could that be?

He'd been in worse situations.

At least he was in the West now, far away from Delvon Prime.

When he reached Jack, he sat down beside him. Staring at the distant horizon where the rolling prairie met the sky, he steadied his voice.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you any of that." His heart felt like it was snapping in two. "But I've been on my own for four years now, and—"

Jack tossed the grass away. "You mean four months."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Four months. Since your folks died."

Ianto felt his eyebrows pull together with a frown. "No, that was four _years_ ago."

Jack shot him a glare. "You wrote in your letter that it was four months."

"No, I couldn't have. Perhaps my writing was a little—"

"Your writing was fine."

"Are you sure that—"

"I'm positive." His tone was so sharp he knew he was telling the truth. As he remembered the haste in which he wrote and sent the letter, he began to wonder if he might have made a mistake.

A horrible, horrible mistake.

Oh, how could he have been so careless?

Then again, maybe it wasn't a mistake, he thought miserably. Maybe he'd known that marrying Jack was wrong—that he wasn't fit to be an honest man's mate— and he had purposefully tried to create a new identity for himself. It certainly seemed that way now.

"You've been living on your own in Delvon Prime for four years?" he asked. "Has _everything_ been a lie?"

Ianto shook his head and spoke firmly. "No."

Jack plucked a long blade of grass and wrapped it around his forefinger. His silence was more unnerving than any reprimand. He was so calm, when most men would be shouting at him.

All Ianto could do was sit in the tangled growth and suffer, knowing what he must think of him now—that he was completely unreliable and untrustworthy.

But who was he trying to fool?

He _was_ unreliable and untrustworthy, because Jack didn't know the first thing about him, and he had no intention of revealing the whole truth to him, or to anyone.

 _Ever_.

It was too dangerous.

If he told him why he had needed to escape Lisant, Jack might report him to the authorities and he might be implicated in his crimes.

Besides that, he _knew_ what Lisant would do if he ever found out he'd told someone. He'd made that more than clear. He couldn't put himself or Jack in that kind of danger.

"What else did you tell me?" Jack asked. "Oh, yes. That you went to church.

And I suppose you're about to tell me the church in your neighbourhood burned down and you haven't seen a Sunday worship in what, four years?"

"No," Ianto said. "I do go to church. I wouldn't lie about _that._ "

He continued to stare coldly at the distant, rolling hills. "But you'd lie about everything else."

Jack tossed the grass away. "Do you still love this man that you parted from only three weeks ago?"

Ianto shut his eyes and faced the wind. "No, I don't love him. I hope I never see him again. And I give you my word—for whatever it's worth: That is the honest truth."

He met his gaze directly, with conviction.

"And what will you wish for three weeks from today?" Jack asked. "That you could be on your way again? Will you leave me when you get bored, and leap into another man's bed to drive the one you really love from your heart?"

His words were like a slap across the face.

He deserved it, he knew, but it didn't make it any easier.

Rising to his feet, he spoke unwaveringly. "I'm sorry for all this, Jack. Truly I am. And I understand if you regret bringing me here. We can go back to town right now if you want, and get a divorce or an annulment. I won't argue, and you won't have to worry about me. I'll make my own way."

He turned and started walking back to the skipper, angry with himself for getting into this mess in the first place.

Not just with Jack.

All his problems had started when he'd met Lisant. He wished he had listened to his instincts then.

Something about him had made him uncomfortable from the start, but his behaviour had always been impeccable.

Too impeccable.

He'd said all the right things and looked the part of a gentleman. Handsome and wealthy, he had wooed him well and ruined his life in the process. Now Jack thought the worst things about him, and he deserved a way out.

He reached the skipper and climbed onto the seat, realizing wretchedly that Jack had every right to judge him the way he had.

He _was_ a liar.

But what did it even matter now? Their marriage was over. It was time to move on.

.

.

.

.

From the corner of his eye, Ianto saw Jack approach the skipper, but he resisted the urge to acknowledge him. He sat with dignity, his backbone as straight as a steel girder while he vaulted himself onto the seat, making the vehicle bounce, squeak and wiggle.

 _He's going to turn this old wooden box back toward town, and that will be the end of it_.

Ianto gripped the side of the skipper in preparation for its sudden lurch, but nothing happened.

Jack held the controls in his large, sun-darkened hands, as if thinking.

Ianto had been brave and strong a moment ago. Where had those feelings gone?

Now he was uncertain and more than a little intimidated. He could do nothing but wait for his decision.

After another agonizing moment, Jack pushed the controls and the skipper eased forward. Ianto held onto the skipper seat, waiting for them to shift direction and turn back toward town, but they did not alter their course.

"We had an agreement," Jack said coolly. "Whatever you did in Delvon Prime is your business and I'd rather not know about it. But you assured me you'd be a good worker and that much I hope is true. The rest doesn't concern me. Like I said, we had an agreement and I plan to stick to my end of it."

Surprised and hopeful, he snuck a glance at Jack, but was disappointed to find all traces of tenderness gone from his face. The word "agreement" held less allure than his dream of a real marriage, but at least it was something, however miniscule, to cling to.

 **.**

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 **.**

 **.**

It was late afternoon when they finally approached a homestead. Ianto saw a barn built of sod and roofed with hay, a noisy chicken coop, a vegetable garden, acres and acres of tall green corn to the west and golden wheat to the east, but no house.

Perhaps it was over the next hill, he thought, then wondered why anyone would build a house so far from the animals.

The muffled sounds of moos and snorts from inside the barn interrupted the constant roar of wind as they drew closer. Ianto inhaled the scent of fresh manure and animals, and strangely, he found the smells agreeable.

He realized how accustomed he had become to the city smells of sewage and rotting garbage.

He sat forward in his seat, feeling like his bum had been battered with a wooden paddle. Stiff and sore, he wanted to ask if this was to be his new home, but hesitated when he glanced at the scowling face beside him.

"Darn," Jack whispered.

Jack pulled the skipper to a hard stop and hopped down. A wandering hen clucked and flapped her wings, scurrying out of the way.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked a pig. The swine was licking the cuff of a pair of work trousers hanging from a clothes line strung across the yard. "How'd this happen?"

Ianto waited in the skipper while Jack strode toward the barn door.

"Darn dog," he said, barely loud enough for Ianto to hear. He flipped the door latch with his finger, and then called out, "Janet! Come out here!"

Ianto felt a nibble of concern as he imagined what he was going to do to this poor animal that had let the pig out of the pen. Just then, a flash of movement whisked past the skipper. It tore across the yard toward Jack.

He knelt down to meet a golden retriever who bounded into him and nearly knocked him over. The dog whimpered and licked Jack's face and hands. Ianto couldn't suppress a smile.

So this was his land. But where was the house? Looking all around, he hopped down from the skipper and splashed into a fresh, wet pile of manure that soiled the cuff of his trousers.

"Oh," he groaned, lifting his foot and stepping back to examine the sole of his boot.

"You gotta watch where you step around here," Jack said. He disappeared into the barn, then returned a moment later towing a white goat. "Go stretch your legs, Gertrude, but stay away from my trousers on the line."

He let her loose to wander the yard.

Ianto, still scraping the bottom of his boot on the hard ground, watched Jack walk back into the barn.

He heard him apologizing to someone. "Sorry Alice. Didn't mean to be gone all night."

He stayed in the barn a while this time, and after a few minutes, Ianto wondered what he should do. Should he get his bag and find his own way to the house, or should he wait for him to escort him? Most definitely, he did not want to invade his home without his permission.

But he was his mate.

It was his home, too.

Feeling an overall uneasiness, Ianto wandered around the yard while a pulsing, squirting sound reverberated from inside the barn.

He entered the fenced pen which was attached to it, then peeked through the door to see Jack sitting on a small wooden stool, milking a cow. He had removed his coat and had draped it over the side of the stall, and now sat with his loose white shirt stretched across his back.

Leaning forward, he squeezed and pulled at the poor thing's feminine under parts while milk squirted in thin, forceful streams. Ianto stood watching, entranced by the muscles in Jack's back, tensing and relaxing in unison with the steady sound of milk striking the wooden bucket.

He realized with some surprise that he'd never really watched anyone milk a cow before, not for any length of time.

All of a sudden, a brown flash came bounding out of the barn and tackled him.


	7. Chapter 7

_7_

Tired and less alert than he ought to have been, he toppled backward into the mud, only then realizing his face, sun-burned and stinging from the long drive, was being licked clean with unbridled enthusiasm.

The dog snorted, his long wet tongue making its aggressive way up his nose.

"Ugh!" he screamed, trying to cover his face with his hands.

"Janet!" Jack hollered. "Get off him!"

The big dog skulked away with her ears pressed back and her tail between her legs, while the pig watched the entire spectacle with interest.

"Sorry about that," Jack said, striding through the mud and wrapping his strong hand around Ianto's elbow. "Look what she did."

He pulled him swiftly to his feet, but he lost his balance and fell forward on one knee into the mud before he scooped him up again.

Ianto fought to control his temper and wondered how he had ever survived the past month without pulling his hair out. He tried to catch his breath, but it seemed no use.

All his troubles were catching up with him.

He picked at his trouser leg with shaky, muddy fingers. "My Sunday Suit. It's covered with mud."

It was the least of his worries, but it seemed the only problem he could talk about.

"It ain't mud," Jack said matter-of-factly.

"It's not mud," he repeated, refusing to accept what possibilities remained.

"Aw, hell," Jack said again. "You're gonna have to go down to the creek."

"The creek? Don't you have a tub?"

"A tub. Not out here, I'm afraid." He turned away from him and then pointed. "Creek's that way. You'll find soap on the big rock."

Ianto glanced hopelessly in the direction of his outstretched finger, and guessed the water was just over the hill.

Struggling to mentally prepare himself to wash out of doors with the animals and insects, he staggered out of the pen alone.

At least the dog had followed Jack back into the barn and was no longer a threat.

Ianto treaded across the yard, and with no shortage of grunts and groans, lifted his bags out of the skipper. He lugged one in the direction he hoped would bring him to water.

When he approached the top of a small hill, he saw the creek in the distance. It was at least a half a mile away. He certainly wasn't about to lug his bag all the way there.

Whispering an oath, he set it down and withdrew a clean shirt and trousers. He left the bag in the grass and hobbled wearily the rest of the way.

After stumbling down the creek bank, he found the soap in a battered tin bowl.

How was he going to do this? He wondered, turning to check if anyone could see.

Of course not.

There wasn't another soul for miles.

He unlaced his boots and kicked them off, then removed his suit and underclothing, feeling one level beyond nakedness.

He was outdoors, stepping into a creek with God-knows-what kind of creatures swimming around in it. He forced those thoughts from his muddled brain as he waded in, shivering at the sudden ice cold shock upon his skin. Goose bumps covered every part of his body that had a name, so he decided to bite the bullet and plunge in head first with a splash.

His body soon adjusted to the cool temperature, and he began to swim around in circles, feeling surprisingly refreshed, but nevertheless wondering how he was ever going to survive out here.

No wonder Jack had to advertise for a mate.

But surely he wouldn't expect him to crack the ice and bathe here in the winter.

There must be some alternative plan.

Treading water and looking in all directions, he realized he had not once imagined that it would be like _this_. He'd honestly believed there would be other farms nearby.

He'd thought it would be a small community with charming country houses painted red. A church and a school within walking distance, children playing games together. He'd fantasized about quilting bees and spelling bees and honey bees. There was none of that here or anywhere near here.

Nevertheless and he was sure some would be surprised by this, he felt lucky and blessed.

Maybe there weren't any quilting bees, but there was hope for a new beginning.

Feeling encouraged, he stepped out of the water and reached for the soap, bringing it to a cool lather between his palms. He washed his hair, his face, and his body, then dove into the water and swam beneath the surface to rinse himself clean.

When he emerged, he took one look at his dung-covered suit, and groaned.

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Jack carried the bucket of milk around the back of the barn and into the house.

When he walked through the door and descended the five steps, he saw, perhaps for the first time, the primitive conditions he'd been living in for the past year.

A fly buzzed around his ear, and he swatted it away with his free hand and then set the bucket on the table.

What was Ianto going to say when he walked in here with his delicate hands and fancy hat? Jack took one look at the narrow bed, felt his insides spin, then turned and walked toward the door.

He'd have to accept it. That was all. He didn't have much choice.

He'd advertised for a farm mate, not some giddy, vain city bit who didn't know a harness from a firehopper plough.

If he didn't like his way of life, it was his own fault for answering his ad—under somewhat false pretences—in the first place.

Gwen had been the same way, all desperate to get married no matter what, not thinking for a second about what she was getting herself into. When it finally hit her, off she went, first chance she got, with that no-good, smooth-talking, randy gambler who had promised her the fine life.

And Jack had let her go without a fight.

Not this time, he thought, climbing back up the steps and remembering Ianto out on the prairie, in the middle of nowhere, suggesting a divorce.

A divorce!

First sign of trouble and just like Gwen, he wanted out. Well, he'd already bedded Ianto. 'Out' wouldn't come so easily this time.

Jack stopped just outside the door. How would Ianto stand up to the challenges that faced him? He rubbed the back of his neck, stiff after the long drive from town.

Would he see his home as a damp, dark hole in the ground and want to leave?

How would he stop him if he _demanded_ that he take him back to Boeshane to get out of this marriage?

That was just what he didn't need—another scandal setting more tongues flapping in the wind. The whole town would probably think he was cursed.

He was beginning to think that himself.

Sweeping that notion away, he decided it was time to show Ianto the house. For every moment he stood stalling, he was wasting daylight hours that should be spent preparing for the harvester.

He walked to the creek and strolled down the bank, then spotted him and froze.

He stood with his back to him, fastening the back button on his pale blue waistcoat. His shiny wet hair dripping curls. He stood in bewildered awe of this man he had brought to this remote, uncivilized place.

 _He simply did not fit_.

He stood out like a red rose in a field of snow.

Just then, Ianto turned around. When his gaze lifted, his eyes narrowed.

He folded his arms in front of him. "You have the most inconvenient habit of sneaking up on me when I'm half dressed, Mr. Harkness."

Jack shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "I just came down to remind you that there's work to be done. And you're more than half-dressed, _Mr. Harkness._ You look fully dressed to me."

Ianto unfolded his arms. "What kind of work?"

"Chores. All day, every day. You didn't expect to bathe and primp and brush that hair for hours on end while I do everything around here, did you?"

"Why would you assume I'd want to do that?"

Jack paused a moment, realizing he was being unreasonable, but knowing it was too late to take it back. All he could do was stand there and stumble over a dozen possible retorts.

Ianto raised his chin. "I did read your advertisement. I know what hard work is about, even though for some reason you think I don't."

Feeling a little guilty for being so hard on him—which probably had a lot to do with their rather disastrous wedding night—Jack closed the distance between them. "When you're done cleaning your suit, I'll show you the house."

"Thank you."

Jack cringed when he imagined what he would think when he saw it, then he chastised himself for caring, for being ashamed of his home. He'd been more than proud the past few months. In fact, he'd never felt so proud as the day he finished the roof.

Jack started up the bank, but stopped.

"By the way." He turned to point at the clothes. "Those are more practical out here."

Ianto glanced down at his simple calico suit and shirt.

"If I were you, I'd pack up that purple thing and save it for Sundays."

"Fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some laundry to do."

Feeling as if he'd just been dismissed, Jack resisted the petty urge to have the last word. When he saw Ianto pick up his shirt and scrub hard enough to wear a hole in it, he knew he didn't want to hear anything he had to say anyway.

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Ianto climbed the steep bank toward the yard. Finally he would see his new home.

The place he would whip into shape. He had every intention of proving himself, and as soon as he got to work, Mr. Jack Harkness would see that he had nothing more to complain about.

And what a pity for him.

Complaining seemed to be his favourite activity.

On his way back, however he lost some time, unable to find his bag. He hadn't thought to mark the spot. Mentally kicking himself, he wandered in circles until he found an imprint in the grass about the size of the bag.

Confused, he glanced toward the homestead and reasoned that Jack must have picked it up and carried it back. At least, that was what he hoped.

Otherwise, he'd have to return for it later, giving him one more excuse to criticize him.

Crossing the yard toward the barn where Jack was leaning one shoulder against the door frame, his arms folded in front of him, Ianto felt his insides flutter with nervousness.

He glanced down to see his bag on the ground at his feet, then resolved not to let this man intimidate him. He was ready to take on his role as peninsular mate with all its challenges and hardships.

He wasn't going to break him.

"It's about time," Jack said, stepping out of the shady doorway and picking up his bag. "I thought you were waiting for your clothes to dry, too."

Ianto smiled coolly. "Of course I wasn't. Let's not forget it was your rambunctious dog that did this."

Ignoring him, Jack walked past. "The house is this way."

Ianto turned.

That way?

There was nothing _that way_ but more prairie. Withholding his judgement, Ianto followed his husband away from the barn.

"It's right here," Jack said, climbing a knoll. He disappeared over the other side, and when Ianto reached the top, he realized with horror that he was standing on a roof.

But this wasn't a house. It was a mound of dirt.

He stood dumbfounded, looking down at his husband.

"It's called a dugout," he explained, "because it's—"

"Because it's dug out of a hill," Ianto finished for him. Gulping back his astonishment, he ambled across the roof and down the side.

"Do many people live in dugouts?" he struggled to appear unruffled.

"At first. Until they earn enough to buy timber for a real place. As you can see, there's nothing out here for building material except sod."

"Yes," he replied, gazing across the obstinate ocean of grass. "I see that."

"The door is here." He wrapped his hand around Ianto's elbow and hurried him along.

Ianto looked more closely at the outside walls. He was amazed by the construction and the resourcefulness of a man determined to build a house in a land without wood. They reached the door and had to walk down five steps carved out of dirt. The inside, about four feet below ground level, seemed dark at first until Ianto's eyes adjusted. Coolness swept over his skin as he breathed in the damp scent of the earth.

Still doing his best to appear calm and composed, he smiled at Jack, who walked into the one room house, dropped his bag by the table, and spread his arms wide.

"This is it," he said proudly, but it was a pride Ianto suspected was less than genuine.

He expected his disapproval.

In fact, he seemed to want it!

"It's very….solid," he commented, determined to prove his infuriating expectations wrong. He tapped his foot three times on the dirt floor.

"The dirt was like putty when I dug the hole," he explained. "It dried nicely though, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes. Very nicely, indeed."

They stood in silence a moment while Ianto glanced around at the furniture. A nail keg and soap box stood against the wall, and two mismatched chairs accompanied a weathered plank table. A rude bed with shaved tree trunks as bed posts stood in the corner.

He walked to the table and set his suit down next to the bucket of milk. At least there was an iron stove. His gaze followed the steel chimney to the ceiling. He scanned the back wall, carved out of the side of the hill, then the front and side walls which were made of chunks of sod, each block laid with the grass side down, staggered like brickwork.

Jack stepped into his line of vision, as if he had been watching his reactions, waiting expectantly for the first teardrop to fall.

"The constant wind may rattle the window and door," he said, "but not the walls. They're about thirty-six inches thick."

"Thirty-six inches," Ianto repeated. "My, my."

He looked up at the roof, wondering if he should worry about it caving in. "What's that made of?"

"A lattice of willow poles. Then there's brush, long grass, a layer of clay from the creek bank, and a final dressing of sod. Strong enough for you to stand on."

"How reassuring," he said, fearing his composure was reaching its last limit.

But he would not let him know.

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Sandylee007 – today's extra chapter posting was for you xxx


	8. Chapter 8

_8_

Ianto turned and looked at the bed. "Is that, uh…?"

"The bed. It's too small, I know. I was planning to build another one before you got here, but things got behind in the haying and I just didn't get the chance."

Ianto swallowed the throbbing lump in his throat, wondering with concern when he intended to find the time, and what they were going to do in the meantime.

It was small, sparsely covered and looked like it had been previously used to bed a horse.

"Don't worry. The bedbugs are minimal."

"Bedbugs?" he echoed, feeling his skin prickle all over.

Jack walked toward the door. "Now that you're settled in, I gotta get to work. You'll find all the food I got in that box over there and in the garden. You can expect me back around dusk."

He walked up the dirt steps without looking back, then disappeared into the daylight.

Ianto stood wearily, wondering if he realized his house was a dark, depressing cellar.

He felt a sudden tickling at his neck and slapped at it, inspecting his palm for some frightening little creature with lots of legs or fangs. Finding nothing, he assured himself that he had imagined the sensation.

It was probably just a loose curl.

Ianto looked around with uncertainty.

Jack had given him no direction as to his duties, but had said there was plenty to do. The obvious chore at the moment was to unpack his bag, then prepare dinner before he returned from the field.

That couldn't be too difficult, could it?

He carried his bag to the bed, but when he found nothing that resembled a chest of drawers, he had little choice but to leave everything packed for the time being.

Next, he went to the cupboard—an open wooden box by the stove—and knelt down to see what it contained. He found a sack of cornmeal, a small jar of molasses, some fat in another jar, coffee, flour, and some salt pork. A couple of jars of smoked fish in brine and something that smelt as bad as it looked. A bag of potatoes sat next to the box, and beside that was a whole barrel of salt.

How had Jack survived before he'd arrived?

No wonder he'd advertised for a mate.

From this moment on, he decided, meals would improve around here. Tonight, he would bite into the best biscuits he'd ever tasted in his life. Ianto would find a way to make that salt pork into something mouth-watering, and his stubborn husband wouldn't be able to deny it.

All he had to do now was light a fire and start working on the biscuits.

He went to the stove and pulled open the door.

Ashes.

He sighed.

Wondering when Jack had last cleaned them out, he looked around for a shovel.

Unable to find one, he scooped the residue out with an empty soup can and filled a bucket. When the stove was empty, he proudly swiped his palms together and looked around for some kindling.

A careful inventory of the so-called kitchen left him with nothing flammable to speak of, so he went outside and searched the yard and the barn for firewood.

Still nothing.

What did he use to light fires? Grass, perhaps? It seemed he used it for everything else, but how could anyone keep a fire going with only grass?

All of a sudden, he didn't feel so clever.

The simple task of cooking supper was now a daunting assignment. His insides reeled with frustration. Jack was probably crouching out in his field, spying on him and waiting for him to fail, even if it meant coming home hungrier than a lion to a mate in tears, hunched over an empty table.

What was he going to do now?

He couldn't face him with a cold slab of salt pork when he came home, but he wasn't about to waste time experimenting with the art of burning grass either.

Heaven forbid his mate should return and discover him doing something wrong. He'd never hear the end of it.

He walked onto the roof, raising a hand to shade his eyes from the sun while he looked all around for Jack.

Strangely, his stomach did a flip when he spotted him, far off across the field.

He was piercing hay with a pitchfork and tossing it into a cart.

Standing shirtless in the tall grass, in that ivory-coloured Stetson, he was a gorgeous sight to behold, like a perfect Adonis, exquisitely formed, and Ianto couldn't help but admire his impressive physique.

There was something so manly and virile about him.

It caused a tremor of lust in his belly as he remembered their lovemaking the night before.

Despite everything, their wedding night had been more pleasurable and satiating than anything he could have imagined. He'd had no idea the marriage bed could be so sensuous and physically gratifying.

If only there had been no secrets between them.

He flopped down onto the grassy roof, trying to stay focused, because there was work to be done and he couldn't spend the afternoon ogling his husband in the fields.

He let out a groan.

Why had he left him so soon without explaining in more detail how things were done here?

He could feel an irritating lump forming in his throat, but he'd come this far. He was not about to fall apart now. All he had to do was go out there and ask Jack a few simple questions.

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Hiking along the cart tracks, carrying a bucket of cold water and a tin cup, Ianto rehearsed his questions. He had to ask them in a way that made him seem confident and comfortable in his new surroundings.

In order to truly feel that way, he had to learn a hundred-and-one new ways to be a mate, and fast.

The bucket grew heavier with each step he took into the hot summer wind, until his arm felt like it was being wrenched from its socket. Water sloshed and splashed into the grass, but he didn't mind if it lightened his load a bit. All he had to do was ignore his own thirst and forget the idea of taking a drink himself before he reached his husband.

Huffing and puffing, he tramped onward with forced confidence until Jack looked up from his work.

Exhilaration surge within Ianto as their eyes met. How was it possible that his face kept getting _more_ handsome? And he had to fight not to stare at his bronze, muscular chest with the sun raining down upon him, reflecting the droplets of perspiration like tiny diamonds.

Jack paused for a brief second or two and watched him, then leaned to the task again, spearing hay with the pitchfork and tossing it over his shoulder into the cart.

"Hello there," Ianto said, reaching him at last.

He pitched one last mound of hay, then stopped and leaned the fork against the cart. "What are you doing out here?"

"I brought you something to drink." he set the bucket in the grass, scooped out a cup of water and held it out to him.

He glared at it suspiciously, as if he thought it might contain arsenic. A trickle of sweat made a trail from his temple along his hairline, and he wiped it with his forearm before raising the cup to his lips. He closed his eyes and tipped back his head while Ianto watched his Adam's apple chug. The skin on his neck shone with perspiration, and Ianto found himself taking shallow breaths at the awesome sight of him.

He drank the water then bent to fill another cup. Resting a muscled arm along the side of the cart and crossing one ankle over the other, he met his gaze. "Not enough to keep you busy today?"

"There's plenty," he responded, trying to come up with a dignified way to ask how to light a fire.

"I appreciate the drink, but it wasn't necessary."

Ianto wet his parched lips. "I thought you might be thirsty. And why do you have to make me feel irresponsible for trying to do you a favour?"

"I'm not trying to make you feel anything at all, Ianto. If you feel irresponsible, don't blame me." He flicked the cup, tossing the last shimmering diamonds of water into the wind.

"I don't feel irresponsible! I…" he stopped himself, realizing with a sudden clarity that he was reacting just as Jack wanted him to. He wanted to frustrate him, to punish him for the secret he'd kept from him last night, and for allegedly loving another man.

Well, he wasn't going to break.

He wasn't.

"In all honesty, I would like nothing more than to get to work, but you left me behind with little idea as to how you like things done around here, so I had to come all the way out here to ask what you use for firewood. Now, whose fault is that?"

A sly, subtle grin crossed Jack's face. He wiped his forearm across his mouth while Ianto resisted the thrill of staring into eyes that twinkled like sapphires.

He set the cup on the skipper seat behind him. "You don't know much about prairie living, do you?"

Ianto clenched his jaw. "Of course not, but remember, you advertised for a mate in a city paper. What did you expect? So don't go blaming me. And aside from that, why do I get the impression you're happy about it? Happy that I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing?"

"Happy? Me? I'll be happy when I get this hay in. As for your domestic difficulties, I haven't given them much thought."

Ianto found that hard to believe.

Jack walked to the horses to tug at a harness buckle. "Ask me anything and I'll tell you. I'm not trying to keep any secrets."

 _Ah, I see. We're back there again, are we?_

Ianto looked down at the bucket at his feet. "I just want to know what you use for firewood."

He came around to stand before him, only inches away. Ianto's gaze fell to his hard rippled stomach, and heat pooled low in his belly as his heart began to race from fascination and desire.

"Oh, yes. Firewood. You won't find much of that out here."

Ianto managed to make eye contact. "What do you burn, then?"

"We burn cow shit."

He frowned slightly, trying to interpret his meaning. "Cow …ah? Do you

mean…?"

"Yep."

He wondered for a moment if this was a cruel joke, but decided his husband couldn't possibly be that clever. He could feel his insides beginning to whirl at the thought of collecting this so-called fuel and stoking the stove all day long. "Isn't there anything else you can—"

"Nope."

He swallowed uncomfortably. "Do you have a store of these …er ….chips in your barn?"

Jack shook his head. "No, but you should start one. Take the wheelbarrow and head out that way." He stretched his long arm and pointed. "Herds drive by regularly. The shit will be scattered everywhere, nice and dry."

Ianto gazed despondently at the horizon.

"Careful not to get lost," Jack added, removing his hat and bending forward. He lifted the bucket and dumped the remaining water over his head. It cascaded down over his hair and onto his shoulders, then he shook his head like a wet dog and splattered Ianto's shirt.

He raised both hands and jumped back. "Do you mind? I've already had my bath today."

"Thought it might cool you off."

With the hot sun burning his face, Ianto stared for a stifling moment at the rivulets of water blazing silver trails down his chest, then he tore his gaze away and flicked his hand over the front of his shirt.

Trying to recapture some of his dignity, he brushed a curl away from his perspiring forehead.

"I'll see you at dusk," he announced curtly, pivoting on his heel and stomping away.

Ianto had gone at least twenty paces before Jack called after him. "You forgot your bucket!"

Ianto stopped and squeezed his eyes shut.

He'd been so happy with that dramatic exit, too.

Taking a deep, frustrated breath, he considered ignoring him and continuing on his way, but that was the only bucket in the house that wasn't filled with ashes, and he'd likely need it to cook supper.

Lifting his chin, he turned and marched back with no shortage of drama. Ianto scooped up the empty bucket, glared at his insufferable, grinning face, then pivoted on his heel again.

Ten more paces, and he called out one more time. "And your cup!"

Ianto stopped. If he returned and met that self-satisfied expression one more time, he would likely swing his bucket by the handle and bash him over the head with it.

After considering that option for a second or two, and receiving some satisfaction from the image in his mind, he forced himself to forget it. He would stay calm and carry on.

Ianto leaned into the wind and strode forward. Even if he was shrivelling with dehydration, he would do without that cup until supper hour.

.

.

.

.

This is almost funny, Ianto tried to convince himself, as he dropped his body into a chair, trying to translate his devastated dreams into something worth laughing about.

In the past hour, he had stoked the stove with cow shit, carried the heavy corn meal sack to the table, added more chips to the fire, washed his hands, measured the flour, added more shit, washed his hands, measured the fat, mixed the biscuit dough, added more shit, washed his hands….

Now, as he wiped perspiration from his brow and waited for the biscuits to cook, he wondered in a panic if he'd washed his hands again before dropping the biscuits onto the pan that last time.

Maybe he'd pass on the biscuits tonight.

Without warning, a dark shadow appeared in the doorway.

Ianto gasped and jumped to his feet.

Jack strode down the stairs, and Ianto wished he'd heard him approach so he could have freshened up. He'd wanted so badly to appear in control, but his hair was a wild mess sticking up, and when he swept two fingers across his cheek, he discovered his face was damp with sweat.

"You got grease on your nose," Jack pointed out, reaching the bottom step and removing his hat, then stroking Janet who had risen to greet him.

Ianto turned away and frantically rubbed both hands over his face. When he faced Jack again, he was sitting down at the table.

Janet returned to her spot on the floor by the bed.

"Supper will be ready in one minute," Ianto said quickly, opening the squeaky oven door. The smell of golden, cooked biscuits floated out and filled the sod house.

Ianto smiled triumphantly, hoping Jack possessed a keen pair of nostrils.

He reached into the hot oven and grasped the pan, using his apron to protect his hand, but exclaimed when the heat snuck through to his fingers. "Shit!"

He dropped the pan with a clatter onto the table, directly in front of Jack.

He leaned back in the chair, raising the front legs off the floor.

Ianto was sucking his stinging fingers.

"Do I get a plate, or do you want me to eat off the hot pan?"

Ianto pulled his fingers out of his mouth with a _pop_ and then balled his hands into fists. The man was enjoying himself too much for Ianto's liking. He turned on his heel, picked up two plates from a shelf by the stove, and set them onto the table.

"There, how's that? Would you like some fresh oysters and wine? Perhaps some strawberries and cream? It shouldn't be a problem."

Jack stared up at him for a long second, then leaned forward and dropped the chair legs onto the dirt floor. "Difficult day was it, Mr. Harkness?"

"My name is Ianto, and you…" he clicked his teeth shut. _Control yourself_ , he thought, closing his eyes to shut him out for a second or two.

When he opened them, he forced a smile as sweet as candy and then took a deep, calming breath. "No, it wasn't difficult at all. In fact, I found it quite pleasant. Would you like a beverage? I was just waiting for the biscuits to come out of the oven before I skipped down to the creek to fill a bucket of water."

A tremor of fatigue shook him as he stared spellbound into Jack's deep, blue-eyed gaze. Whatever emotion lurked beyond those eyes was a mystery to him, and he wondered dismally if a day would ever come when he would understand his husband's mind.

Or when he would no longer feel as though Jack was punishing him for their unfortunate beginning.

What had he expected.

A bloody robot?


	9. Chapter 9

_9_

Jack leaned forward and rested an arm on the table. "The biscuits are out of the oven."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said the biscuits are out of the oven. What are you waiting for? Time to go skipping down to the creek."

Ianto took a step back, resisting the desire to fling the hot pan of biscuits into his lap. Instead, he picked it up using his bunched apron, and with a measure of poise, scooped the biscuits into a bowl.

"I'll be right back," he said, wishing he'd had the forethought to carry the water up _before_ he put the biscuits in the oven. But having to stoke the stove so often, he didn't dare leave it alone.

Wiping his hands on his trousers, he headed for the door, adding with a sharp bite, "Why don't you relax for a minute? Put your feet up. I'll be back in the leap a lambron's cub."

Fuming, he picked up the bucket of water he'd used to wash his hands a hundred times that afternoon, climbed the steps, and emerged out of the stuffy sod house into the evening.

The western horizon beyond the corn field glowed a radiant pink, and a cool breeze blew by, lifting the hair off the sticky skin at his neck. The walk to the creek would do him good, he decided, staring at the magnificent magenta sky and struggling to appreciate it.

A short while later, when he returned to the house with a half-full bucket of water, he slowed when he discovered Jack lounging in a chair outside the front door with his back to him, one foot raised and resting on a barrel, Janet sitting beside him.

They were both facing the sunset.

Ianto stopped and gently set the bucket in the grass, realizing he hadn't heard his footsteps beneath the hissing whisper of the wind across the grass and wheat.

It was odd, how the first day of this marriage seemed more like a battle than a relationship. Jack had revealed nothing of his true self since they'd arrived here—but of course Ianto was as much to blame as he was for the state of things at this moment.

Probably more so, since Ianto was the one who had admitted to loving someone else mere weeks before he accepted Jack's offer.

His fight instincts somewhat deflated, Ianto picked up the bucket and walked toward his husband. He understood where his hostility was coming from, they'd gotten off to a bad start, to be sure and he realized he wanted things to be better.

He was tired of being angry.

Perhaps, if he warmed up to him, he would let it go.

When he paused in front of him, he dropped his leg to the ground and squinted up at him. "Did you have a nice _skip_ down to the creek?"

Putting it behind them, it seemed, was going to prove a challenge.

"Yes, I did, thank you." Ianto's shadow fell across Jack's face, and Ianto waited for his next attempt to rile him, but surprisingly, he leaned forward and placed his large hand on Ianto's hip.

Ianto's blood burst into hot embers, speeding through his veins.

What in Goddess's name did he think he doing, and why couldn't he relax about it?

They were married, after all.

"You're blocking my view of the sunset." He gently pushed him to the side.

The dog whimpered.

Ianto stood like a fool with his hands at his sides, his heart racing while he had to remind himself to breathe. He wished he could just live here without reacting so strongly to this man's every move. He simply had to give it more time, he decided.

This was only their first day.

Once he got used to things, he'd barely notice his presence.

Jack crossed his ankle over his knee and then glanced up at him again. "Don't you have something to do?"

Unable to understand how a man could be so attractive in one way and so utterly contemptible in another, Ianto bit his tongue to keep from saying what he _really_ wanted to say to him, which would not be the least bit gentlemanly.

Maybe a hearty supper might warm his nature a bit—and Ianto's as well.

He turned to go inside, clinging to that hope. "Come in anytime. Food will be on the table, waiting."

.

.

.

.

.

Jack rubbed Janet's ears, then stretched his arms over his head, wishing he hadn't sent Ianto all the way to the creek for fresh water when he was obviously exhausted.

He sure did overdo it with him today.

The things Ianto told him about his ex-lover had bothered him more than he realized, he reckoned.

He rose from the chair and pulled it back against the front wall of the house, glanced once more at the scarlet-streaked sky, then retreated with Janet into the dark little home.

"I'll light a lantern," he said, reaching the bottom step then his gaze fell upon Ianto whose head was resting in his arms on the table, his eyes closed.

Jack crossed the room to the lamp by the bed and struck a match, breathing in the scent of sulphur as he lowered the flame to the wick. He expected Ianto to wake, startled upon seeing him in the sudden light, but the poor exhausted man continued to sleep.

His stomach roared with a reminder that he had not eaten since breakfast, and his eyes searched the stove for food.

When he looked at the golden biscuits arranged with care on a plate, the table set with an unlit candle in the centre and some fresh wildflowers in a cup, a stone of regret weighed heavily in his gut.

Ianto was trying hard to make a cheerful adjustment. Why couldn't he?

Jack moved to the stove and uncovered the pot to find a thick stew simmering with salt pork and potatoes. Just the smell was enough to buckle his knees. Still holding the lid, he turned to check on Ianto, who was still sleeping quietly.

He looked around for a couple of tin bowls, served stew for the both of them, and set Ianto's down first.

"Ianto," he whispered, gently shaking his shoulder. "Are you hungry?"

He did not respond, so he knelt beside his chair to study his face.

His chin was cradled in his arms, his full lips puckered, his long lashes swept down. He looked so innocent. Child-like. The sight of him reminded him of happier days when Rose, his younger sister, would fall asleep where she sat, usually in the middle of some game after a valiant battle to stay awake.

He closed his eyes, trying to see her again. His heart at first warmed with the memory, then it flooded with sadness and longing. Rose would have had her twenty fifth birthday this Christmas.

He pushed those thoughts away and looked again at Ianto. When was _his_ birthday?

He had no idea.

Ianto whimpered sweetly, and he found himself wondering what in all the worlds he was dreaming about to be so far away that he would not awaken at his touch.

He wondered if he was dreaming of the man he had loved.

He felt a sudden jolt of irritation.

He rose to his feet and shook Ianto again. "Ianto, wake up. You're dreaming.

Wake up."

He stirred, finally, and raised his chin as if in a daze.

"Oh," he murmured. "I must have fallen asleep. It's time for supper."

Ianto made a move to push his chair back, but stopped when Jack said, "I've already dished it up."

Ianto leaned back, blinking. Then he noticed the bowl in front of him. "Thank you, but I could have gotten it."

Jack gathered his bowl of stew from the stove and sat across from him. "I know."

Ianto cupped his hands together, pausing before lifting his spoon. Feeling uneasy, Jack realized that prayer was something he'd forgotten over the past few months, ever since he'd stopped being thankful.

He cleared his throat. "Would you like to say a few words?"

"I thought you might like to." Ianto stared at him silently until he had no choice but to comply.

Closing his eyes, he thanked the Goddess for the meal, the sunny day, and the roof over their heads.

He quickly said "Amen," then opened his eyes to find Ianto still staring at him.

"Pass the biscuits," Jack said gruffly, even though he could easily reach them himself.

Ianto handed the plate across the small table, then jumped as if something bit him.

"Water!" he rose from his chair and filled two cups from the bucket next to the stove.

"I walked all the way to the creek for this and forgot to serve it up." he set the tin cup in front of him and sat down.

"You know," Jack said, "if you knew how to drive the skipper, you could fill the barrels. I'd help you set them down outside, and the rain would top them up every once in a while. It would save you walking down there ten times a day."

Ianto paused with his spoon in mid-air. "That would be very kind of you."

They dug into their meals, but a second later, Jack couldn't help adding, "In fact, maybe I'll do it for you in the morning before I head out to the field."

Why was he offering to do that he asked himself. He had work to do and he was behind as it was. The harvester would arrive in only a week.

"Thank you," Ianto said quietly and then continued eating his stew.

Chairs squeaked, the lantern hissed, but neither of them spoke a word. Jack leaned into his plate, savouring each bite, believing this had to be the best meal this little sod house had ever seen. The only decent meals he'd eaten were over at his neighbour's place.

Martha, Mickey's mate, could make a meal out of sod if she had to.

When he emptied his bowl, Ianto stood immediately, as if he'd been measuring his progress. "Can I refill that for you?"

"Please."

Ianto set another helping of steaming stew in front of him.

Jack ate his supper quietly, thinking. Maybe one day of anger was enough. Not that he'd forgiven Ianto for lying to him and for being in love with someone else, but he'd brought him here for a reason and there was work to be done before winter. Ianto had a lot to learn and in all honesty, he couldn't teach him.

How Martha managed to run that household with the few resources available out here had always astounded him.

He swallowed another bite and looked up. "It might be a good idea for you to visit the Smiths tomorrow."

Ianto's eyebrows lifted. "The Smiths? You mean we have neighbours?"

"About two miles past the creek."

"But I thought we were the only settlers around. I didn't see any homes on the way out here." Ianto frowned softly as he tried to remember everything they had passed.

"That's because most of them are living in dugouts. Unless you know where they are, they're easy to miss. The Smiths live in a sod house, above the ground. You shouldn't have a problem finding them. You might want to talk to Martha about how to survive out here."

He could feel Ianto's steady gaze upon him and suspected he was a little surprised he'd bothered to suggest it, but there was no time for ignorance at harvest time. "I told her about you. I reckon she's expecting you to come by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? That's wonderful." He noticed the excitement in his voice, even though he tried to hide it.

"Don't expect me to come with you for a formal introduction, though. I'm too busy. Quite frankly, things out here won't always be as proper as you're used to. Necessity and survival come first. In a bad storm, whole families will share their house with the chickens if it means saving the flock. So be prepared for a different kind of—"

"I get your point," Ianto interrupted, shoving his chair back.

He began to clear the table and abruptly changed the subject. "I was thinking that butter might be nice, but I didn't see a churn."

"There's one in the barn. I'll get it after supper."

"Thank you. Shall I make coffee?"

"Sure."

Ianto walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To get some more….I have to light the fire again. It went out when I fell asleep."

He saw the look of failure in Ianto's eyes and realized how desperately he had wanted everything to be perfect.

"You know," Jack said, rising and moving toward him. "I didn't really want coffee. It's usually a morning beverage for me. Keeps me up at night otherwise. I was just being polite."

They stood face to face, perhaps a little too close, staring curiously at each other. "I see."

In that moment, Jack realized with some discomfort that they were about to spend their first night together.

In their home as man and mate.

He glanced at the narrow bed, imagining how crowded it would be. Their bodies would be pressed together all night long, whether or not he wanted it that way.

And despite Ianto's pretty face, despite his tempting, alluring gentlemanly curves and sweet, perfumed scent, the thought of touching him made something inside him squirm.

How could he lay his hands on a gentleman who was probably dreaming about someone else?

How could he make love to him, knowing another man had his heart?

Jack felt his cheeks flush with fiery irritation. None of this should matter to him, he knew, but he could not fight the irrational urge to find this man, wherever he was, and show him what the muddy ground looked like up close.

What had he been up to, robbing a gentleman of his innocence out of wedlock, then leaving him so desperate, he had to answer an ad to become another man's mate?

Was he with child?

 _Aw, hell_.


	10. Chapter 10

_10_

Angry at himself for falling into this trap—if that's what it was—Jack decided to leave the house.

"I'll go get that butter churn." He breezed by Ianto and made a dash for the door.

As he walked across the yard feeling the coolness of evening touch his skin, he thought of Ianto, only seconds ago, standing uncomfortably at the bottom of the steps, dreading the necessity of lighting another fire, but doing his best to hide it.

If he had wanted coffee, he reckoned he would have prepared it with a smile, and something about that made him wish Ianto could be a little less kindly.

At least then, it would be easier to tell him that he intended to sleep in the barn that night, and every night until he knew for sure that he was not carrying some other man's child.

.

.

.

.

.

The next morning when Ianto woke, it seemed as if the sun had gone on a holiday.

The tiny house was as black as a preacher's Sunday cloak.

He sat up and looked around, relieved to see some sign of the new day as a narrow ribbon of light was sneaking in through a clean patch on the dust-covered window and illuminating a single sod in the far corner just above the toppling mound of cow chips.

What time was it? He wondered sleepily, stretching his arms over his head. He glanced over the one room house, wishing there was a clock ticking somewhere.

Anything to disturb the perpetual silence.

He did like a good timepiece.

Sluggishly, he tossed the blanket aside, swung his legs off the edge of the bed, and laid his bare feet on the cold dirt floor. He yawned and touched the thin gold chain around his neck, wondering why in the world he was still wearing it and to bed, no less.

As he considered it further, he knew he wore it because it was a piece of his old life.

The life before Lisant.

Forcing that unpleasantness from his mind, he reached for his gold time piece.

Holding it up to the dim light and focusing on the fine black hands against the white background, he felt his insides twist like a corkscrew.

Ten o'clock!

He leaped to his feet and ripped off his nightshirt, then quickly donned the same shirt he'd worn yesterday. While he hurriedly laced his boots, he prayed that Jack had not come in here expecting breakfast before tending to his crops.

Surely he would have woken him.

Oh, Heaven forbid he should find out how late he had slept!

Ianto splashed some cold water onto her face and reached for a biscuit, took it with him and ran up the stairs into the daylight. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the wheat field was flapping and hissing beneath the constant breeze.

Jack was nowhere to be seen, so he started off for the Smith's place, thinking a visit there would be a good excuse to explain his lack of productivity that morning.

As soon as he rounded the corner of the house, he stopped, noticing two barrels standing at attention, both filled to the brim with fresh water.

"Oh, bugger," he said aloud, fully aware he was talking to himself.

He _had_ been there.

There was still a chance he had not gone into the house, he told himself, trying to be optimistic.

When he passed the barrels, he found himself feeling a flicker of encouragement.

It had been very generous of him to haul the water for him when he had his own work to do in the field. Perhaps there was a chance for civility, if nothing more.

It had been clear to Ianto last night, when he'd announced he would sleep in the barn, that he couldn't endure the idea of touching him.

Well, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, he thought, picking his way through the barn yard and past the snorting pig in the pen. Touching him would only remind him of the thing that had damaged their marriage on the very first day.

Surely, he would feel differently in time, when he proved himself loyal and serious about this marriage…

A few minutes later, Ianto reached the creek. Looking in both directions and knowing enough not to expect a bridge anywhere close by, he decided there was no other option but to wade across.

He removed his boots and hoisted his trouser legs up to his knees, then waded through the cool, resistant water, carrying his boots in one hand.

He climbed the creek bank on the other side, and while he sat in the grass retying his boots, he saw chimney smoke against the blue sky in the distance.

With his trouser legs wet anyway and sticking to his legs, he started off in that direction.

A short time later, he walked into the Smith's yard and found their homestead far more established than his own.

A large vegetable garden grew just beyond the wood fence …a wood fence and the sturdy sod house stood square and straight, topped with a plank roof.

Ah, what a luxury, he thought, recalling how he'd had to keep the stew covered last night while it was cooking, just to prevent dirt from dropping into the pot.

Warm and perspiring from the long walk in the sun, Ianto approached the front door.

He noticed with interest a birdcage hanging by the front window, the songbird making cheerful music. Below the window, potted flowers turned their pink and purple faces to the sky and seemed to giggle in the wind.

Ianto wished he'd had the forethought to bring along some of his biscuits. Too late now, he said to himself, as he raised his fist to knock.

Almost immediately, a slender, black woman opened the door. Her face beamed with a smile. "Why, hello there! You must be Ianto. Come in, come in."

Right away, Ianto felt welcome and very grateful to meet a female neighbour.

Ianto hadn't realized how the idea of being isolated had gnawed at him since he and Jack had left Boeshane City.

"How do you do?" Ianto greeted her with a deep bow as gentlemen do.

"I'm Martha Smith." The woman ushered Ianto into the kitchen. "I've been waiting for days for you to arrive. Ever since Jack placed that ad."

"You know about that?"

"Oh, yes. He's like a brother to Mickey and me. In fact, it was our idea. Though I don't know how we'll get along without his company so often. But as Mickey says, we're not losing a friend, we're gaining one, and poor Jack was in desperate need of your arrival."

Overwhelmed by this news, Ianto accepted the chair Martha offered and sat at the table, admiring the bright red tablecloth.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Martha asked.

"I wouldn't want to trouble you."

"Not at all! I slipped the bread into the oven only five minutes ago and I started a pot then."

How easy Martha made it seem. Ianto watched her fill two china cups full of rich smelling coffee. Compared to Ianto's new home, this place was a palace.

Just then, the door flew open and a little girl blew into the house, her bark curls frazzled and wind-strewn.

"Mama!" she shouted, overflowing with excitement. "Papa caught a prairie chicken! It walked right past him and he threw the hammer at it, struck it stiff!"

Martha scooped the child into her arms. "That's wonderful. What a feast we'll have tonight."

She set the girl down but held her hand. "Tosh, this is our new neighbour, Ianto Harkness."

The little girl shyly stepped forward.

Ianto leaned down to greet the child at eye level. "Hello, Tosh. What a pretty dress you have on."

"Mama made it. She made my other one, too."

"You're a very lucky girl. How old are you?"

Tosh held up six fingers and then buried her face in her mother's skirt.

"She's pretending to be bashful today," Martha whispered. "We don't get many visitors."

Ianto smiled warmly and then heard footsteps tapping over the ground outside. Tosh suddenly forgot her shyness and darted to the door. "Look! Owen's got the chicken!"

Ianto swivelled in his chair to see a young boy step into the doorway. Dark like

Tosh, he stood barefoot, proudly displaying a dead chicken he held upside-down by its spindly legs. He couldn't have been more than nine or ten. "You got some pluckin' to do, Ma."

Martha smiled, her hands resting on her wide hips. "I can see that. Come inside and meet our new neighbour, Mr. Harkness."

He lowered the lifeless chicken to his side, wiped one hand on his trousers and held it out. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Harkness. I'm Owen."

Ianto shook his proffered hand. "Will you tell Jack I saw the chicken first?"

Ianto looked up at Martha, questioningly.

Martha said, "Owen thinks very highly of Jack."

"He's going to let me help him dig his well."

"A well?" Ianto repeated, hoping he'd heard Owen correctly.

"Yes, sir. I was too little to help Pa when he dug ours. And Jack said I oughta know how to do it if I'm gonna be a farmer like him some day."

Martha stepped forward and ushered the children toward the door. "All right, all right. Back to your chores. Thank you for bringing the chicken."

Owen dropped the dead hen with a _plop_ onto the table in front of Ianto, who quickly leaned back in his chair. The feathers moved and then went still. Owen and Tosh bolted out the door.

Martha picked the bird up by its claws and plopped it on the counter, much to

Ianto's relief.

"Our children…" she remarked, smiling. "I don't know how we'd get along without them. It would be dreadfully quiet around here."

She sat down across from Ianto and sipped her coffee. "So, how are you holding up? All this must have come as a shock to you."

Ianto raised his cup to his lips.

A part of him wanted nothing more than to spill all his woes onto the table in front of this woman, but wasn't it enough that Jack thought he couldn't manage out here?

He didn't want Martha to agree with him.

"Well, I…."

Martha began nodding before Ianto could finish. "I felt the same way when I first came. In fact, I burst into tears the moment Mickey stopped the skipper in front of the dugout."

Ianto raised her eyebrows. "You lived in a dugout, too?"

"Oh, yes. What a time that was. I thought I'd go out of my mind. I was used to life in town with the mercantile down the street. You can't imagine how I suffered that first year."

Ianto glanced with hope around the tidy, well-stocked kitchen. "It seems like you have everything you need now."

"Yes, we put a lot into this place. Most of the big improvements came when Jack arrived, though."

Ianto set down his cup, suddenly more curious than he cared to admit. "Really? How's that?"

"He was all alone—and life isn't easy out here for a man on his own. In fact, it's damn near impossible. He traded work for a meal or a loaf of bread and came by often. That's why he was so desperate for a mate. He'd get behind in his own work, coming here to help us. He didn't have time to do what a mate would have done for him. Make no mistake about it, you'll work just as hard as he does. But you'll make a good life here, I know you will."

Ianto felt his optimism returning. It wasn't like him to give up, yet last night, when his husband had walked out the door, he'd come close. "It just seems like there's so much to learn. I was so relieved when Jack suggested I come here and talk to you."

"I told him to send you over the moment you arrived. I said, 'Don't let him lift a finger before he talks to me.'"

"Well, he did let me lift a finger. In fact, he enjoyed watching me struggle over every little thing from lighting the fire to hauling water from the creek."

Martha reached across the table and touched Ianto's hand. "Don't be too hard on him. He's had a rough time lately. He's a little gun shy."

Ianto drew his eyebrows together in confusion.

"You don't know?" Martha asked, sitting back. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything."

"Please, tell me," Ianto implored, wishing he had known more about his husband _before_ their wedding night. He might have handled things differently.

"It really isn't my place to say."

"Martha, please, it would help me to know. Otherwise, this marriage is going to last about as long as a snowman in July."

Ianto watched his neighbour shift uncomfortably in her chair. "We can't have that, now. Jack couldn't handle heartbreak like the first one."

Ianto tensed. "Heartbreak?"

"Worst thing I've ever seen."

Astonished, Ianto couldn't imagine Jack feeling so deeply for anyone, much less admitting to it.

"Oh dear," Martha remarked. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything. Mickey told me not to."

"Of course you should have. I need to know. What happened? Who was it?"

"It was a terrible thing." Martha stood and refilled Ianto's cup with more hot coffee. "Jack came here two years ago from the peninsular barrens after his whole family died —"

"His family died?" His heart throbbed painfully in his chest, for he knew what it was like to lose people.

"Consumption," Martha explained. "Every last one of them except for Gray who had moved to Boeshane to start his law office the year before. Jack lost his parents, his younger brother, his three young sisters. After all that, he just couldn't stay there. He wanted to start fresh somewhere else. So he sold everything and came to Boeshane to be near Gray and buy some land. Then he met Gwen in town. Her father is the Reverend. Very friendly fellow."

"Gwen…."

Martha nodded. "Yes, she's the one."

 _The one_.

So, Jack wasn't so innocent himself.


	11. Chapter 11

_11_

"But Gwen wasn't exactly suited to the plains," Martha went on. "She was a beauty though, and that made Jack a little foolish in the head, I think. He spent most of his savings on the ring, plus an engagement gift—a necklace. I suppose he wanted to make sure she wouldn't change her mind."

Martha paused. "So Jack built his little dugout and brought her out to see it, promising he'd build her a real house the following year. She took one look at that place and said she'd have to rethink their engagement. Not a week later, she ran off with another man—a rich one. It was the betrayal that broke Jack's heart. He said nothing was more important to him than trust, and that he'd never fall for a beautiful woman again because other men would always be trying to woo her away."

Martha seemed to jolt back to the present and then squirmed in her chair as she looked into Ianto's eyes. Ianto had the distinct feeling Martha suddenly wanted to eat her words.

"I'm sure he's over that now," she added.

But when Ianto remembered the expression on Jack's face when he first saw him, he doubted it. "How long ago did this happen?"

"It's been about three months."

 _Only three months_. _That hypocrite._

Ianto stood and crossed to the window, wishing he had known about this sooner.

He could have thrown it back in his face when he'd challenged him about his past with another man.

"Are you all right, my dear? Was I wrong to tell you?"

Ianto faced his neighbour. "No, you were right. I think I understand now, why he's been cool toward me."

 _He's afraid to love someone. To trust them not to leave him._

"I hope I haven't interfered," Martha said. "But you should know that it's nothing _you've_ done. He'll warm up soon, I know he will."

Ianto looked out the window. _Nothing I've done._ If only it were true.

When Ianto turned around again, Martha was folding the table cloth. She set it on a shelf and carried the chicken to the table. "You don't mind if I pluck while we talk, do you? If I can get this into the oven as soon as the bread comes out, I'll be able to send you home with some fresh cooked meat for that hungry man of yours. That'll help him forget about Gwen."

Ianto smiled, thinking Martha was going to be a good friend.

"Now, sit down," she said, "and I'll tell you everything there is to know about being a prairie mate. Jack will think he's struck gold when he sees how useful you'll be to him."

Ianto had to admit, he wanted nothing more.

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Jack watched the pink sun sink into the horizon as he unhitched the team in the barnyard. He glanced at his little house, saw smoke rising from the narrow chimney poking out of the grass roof, and felt a confusing wave of emotions wash over him.

Part of him saw that smoke as a dream come true. What he'd always wanted had finally become a reality. He had a companion now, a partner, and the beginnings of a family.

 _A family_.

Unfortunately, something else had consumed his thoughts since the moment he woke that morning. What if his suspicions the night before would prove to be true?

What if Ianto had been desperate to get married because he was carrying another man's child, and that man had refused to marry him?

A few minutes later, after he led the horses into the barn, he swung the door shut and secured the latch. He sauntered across the yard toward the dugout, his heart quickening with every step.

Why was he feeling this way?

It didn't matter if Ianto had loved someone else. He had loved someone else, too. Eventually he'd get over that man, as Jack had forced himself to get over Gwen.

And if Ianto _did_ give birth to a child in eight or nine months' time, it could just as easily belong to him, for he'd made love to him on their wedding night.

But could he bear never knowing if it was his, or someone else's?

How would he live with that?

He made an effort to shake those thoughts away, for there was no sense worrying about something that hadn't happened yet.

Ianto might not even be in the family way.

Reaching the house, he went inside. A delicious aroma hit him like a prairie breeze.

It was hard to believe a simple scent could soothe his concerns and make him feel so grateful, considering what he'd just been thinking about.

How long had it been since he'd smelled anything like that? What was it?

Cookies?

A cake?

He walked down the steps to find the house warm and flickering with golden light from the kerosene lamp. He patted Janet who had come to greet him, and noticed that something was different.

Heck, _everything_ was different.

A red blanket had been fashioned as a wall, hung from the ceiling and dividing the sleep area from the eating area. The table was covered by a white cloth, but as he looked closer, he realized it was an old flour sack cut to fit.

Again, fresh wildflowers stood in a cup in the centre.

He removed his coat and turned to hang it on the hook by the door, but noticed a yellow hat hanging there.

Where had Ianto found that?

The only thing he'd seen him wear on his head was that ridiculous purple thing.

Just then, the blanket shuddered and Ianto stepped out from behind it. He found himself staring at him. Wondering….

"You're back," he said, his tone cheerful. "How was your day?"

Even if the cheeriness was an act, it was welcoming, just the same.

"Fine. I'm catching up." He glanced around again. "I see you've been busy."

Ianto crossed to the stove. Janet settled down next to his feet. "I went to the Smith's place today."

"I figured as much. You weren't here when I came back mid-day."

He whirled around. "You came back?"

"A man's gotta eat."

His face went pale. "I'm sorry. I should have prepared something for you before I left."

Jack wondered why he was so apologetic all of a sudden, like he thought he was going to blow a gasket. "Forget it. I've been getting by on my own for the past two years. What's one more day?"

Ianto stared at him for a moment, squeezing the fabric of his shirt, then seemed relieved and turned back to the stove.

"What smells so good?" Jack asked, all too aware of his tiny waist and curvy backside. He certainly didn't look like he was in the family way, though it was too soon to tell, he knew.

"I baked a cake. I collected the eggs today and Martha gave me a little sugar. She said it was a welcoming gift. She also gave me a hat and that blanket over there."

"That was mighty neighbourly."

"She's a lovely person."

Ianto flitted around the stove a little longer while Jack sat back in his chair and watched.

The velvety tone of Ianto's voice as he hummed a sweet melody, mixed with his graceful movements around the kitchen, were calming.

It was almost enough to make Jack forget what he'd been thinking about earlier.

Ianto lifted the pot's lid with a towel wrapped in one hand and tipped his face over the rising steam to take a whiff. A few minutes later, he turned around with a steaming plate of food and set it down in front of Jack. He found himself wondering where Jack's thoughts had been the past few seconds—in some other heavenly world, he guessed, a place where nothing but the present mattered.

"Is this chicken?" Jack asked, unable to mask his surprise. He hadn't gone out and shot himself a bird, too, had he?

"Yes. Courtesy of the Smiths."

His new mate must have made quite an impression on them, he thought, his mouth watering.

When Ianto finally sat down, they said a quick prayer and then began to eat.

They ate in silence, partly because Jack didn't know what to say and partly because he was too hungry to talk between mouthfuls.

When they finished eating, Ianto began to clear the table. "I learned a lot today. I think I'm going to manage just fine when I settle in and start a routine."

So he did plan on staying….

"I'm going to try my hand at making soap before winter," he continued. "I've started saving ashes from the stove. Martha said we can do it together after the pigs are slaughtered."

Jack stared at the back of his slender, pale neck as he rinsed the plates in a bucket. He actually seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Watch your eyes around the lye when you make that soap," he told him. "The fumes can sting."

"I'll be careful."

Ianto bent forward to open the stove. His behind jutted out close enough for him to lay his hand on if he was so inclined but he fought the urge and concentrated on the delectable smell of baked cake.

Ianto removed it from the oven and set it on an upturned barrel. "That should cool a few minutes before I cut you a slice. Can you wait?"

"Sure."

"Are you certain you don't want some coffee?" he asked, pouring himself a steaming cup.

The pleasant aroma floated to his nostrils and he found himself liking the idea of sitting at the table after dinner sipping coffee with his mate, a mate who suddenly seemed comfortable and confident in his surroundings.

A mate who was making plans for the future, even if they were just plans about soap.

Would it really matter if a cup of coffee kept him up late? "Maybe I will have some," he answered. Ianto set a cup in front of him. "You ever milk a cow before?"

Ianto cleared his throat. "No. But Martha explained—"

"Did she show you?"

"Not exactly." Ianto rose and touched the cake with his finger. He sliced a few pieces and set them down on the table. "I suppose you want to teach me."

"You won't learn if I don't, and you're gonna have to do it sooner or later."

"I'm ready to learn as soon as you find the time to show me."

He nodded. "I'll wake you in the morning and show you how it's done. At least that way you'll be up at a decent hour."

Ianto choked on his coffee. His cheeks blushed like a couple of ripe tomatoes, and for the first time since he'd met him, Jack laughed.

For a moment, Ianto looked mortified, his eyes wide, his raised eyebrow toward the ceiling. Then, as if he couldn't fight it any longer, he burst into an infectious, cheek-splitting grin. "All right, so I slept in this morning. I promise it won't happen again."

Jack nodded, smiling at him, wondering how it was possible that simple laughter could sweep so much tension out of a room.

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Jack rolled over in his bed of hay, scratching at his chest and arms and wondering in the darkness what time it was. Slowly, groggily, he sat up, unable to sleep with Alice stomping in her stall next to him.

She seemed restless.

Must be morning.

He stood and stretched, tossed the blanket over the side of the stall then picked some hay out of his hair and brushed some more off his shoulders.

Was his mate up yet?

He remembered his promise to teach him how to milk Alice and supposed he should go to the house and wake him.

Faint traces of light brightened the sky as he crossed the yard, carrying a lamp, and entered the dark dugout. He descended the steps very quietly, which made no sense considering he was here to _wake_ Ianto. But the silence of the dawn and the peaceful little house seemed too special to disturb.

Jack held the lamp high and looked around the tidy kitchen.

Then he turned his gaze toward the red blanket hung as a curtain. He could hear Ianto's steady breathing behind it.

Slowly, lightly, he made his way toward the curtain, remembering his sweet smile at the dinner table the night before. All night long, it had stuck in his mind like honey, and now, here he was, confused by a sense of anticipation filling his brain.

Waking him seemed such an intimate thing to do. He found himself wanting to stall the milking and watch him sleep for a while.

Fighting that notion, he steeled himself and pushed the curtain aside.

There he was, lying on his side with the covers pulled up to his ear.

He paused a moment to admire what he could see: his dark curls, his eyelids and long lashes, the curve of his hips and the trail of his legs beneath the blanket.

As he watched him sleep, his body awakened in the most surprising way. He wanted to forget about the chores and crawl under the covers with him, wrap his arms around him and feel his warmth against his bare skin.

Letting that thought rest only briefly in his mind, he leaned forward to lay his hand on his shoulder to wake him, before his body convinced him to do what his heart was not yet ready for.

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Still in a dreamy state, Ianto began to wake in time with the gentle swaying of his body.

A hand was resting on his shoulder. He sighed, then opened his eyes and gazed sleepily up a pair of magnetic blue eyes.

As he recovered his consciousness, he realized it was his husband bending over him, waiting for him to say something.

"Is it morning already?" Ianto asked, his voice breathy.

"Yes. Alice's waiting."

"Alice," he repeated, trying to make sense of the word while he sat up.

His blanket fell away to reveal the top of his nightshirt, which was unbuttoned at the neck, and he noticed Jack avert his gaze.

His heart lurched and he wondered if he'd ever forgive him enough to look at him again—to see him as a mate, to desire him.

He had hoped it would not matter, but strangely, this morning, it mattered more than he cared to admit.

"I'll wait for you in the barn," he said, rising to go.

"What about breakfast?"

"After we tend to Alice and collect the eggs."

Ianto listened to his boots tapping up the steps and then lowered his bare feet to the cold floor. He tried to cling to a hope that one day, things would be different. They would have to be, if he ever wanted children, assuming, of course, he wasn't already with child.

But Lisant had told him there was only a short time each month when a mate could conceive, and he'd assured him it didn't happen as easily as most people thought.

If there was any truth to that, he may never find himself in the family way.

Not with a husband who insisted on sleeping in the barn.

Ianto sighed as he accepted this was his life now, this was his lot.

With a heavy heart Ianto moved towards the barn and his new life.

He only hoped that with time, love might come too.

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End of Part I


	12. Chapter 12

Ianto looked inside and saw a few insects squirming about in a panic, trying to crawl over each other to save themselves from drowning.

"Ugh!" he groaned, as Jack appeared beside him and scooped them out with a cup.

Ianto felt tears coming, tears he'd fought against all day. As he considered it more, he realized they were the same tears he'd been fighting every day since he'd stepped off the Transporter.

Every time his husband looked at him with that disappointed expression, he'd wanted to weep. But he hadn't. And he wouldn't now. Things could be worse, he told himself.

Though how much worse, he could not imagine.

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They sat in silence for a moment, staring up at the thick, heavy cloud-cover. Then Ianto couldn't help himself. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that his past would not catch up with him— _ever_ —and that this new life on the prairie, with the most incredible, beautiful man he ever imagined to exist, would not turn out to be only a temporary respite from the nightmare.

It frightened him sometimes, that out here on the prairie, so far from the rest of the world, this new life he'd stumbled into felt more like a dream than anything real.

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Part 2 Trial by Fire is starting … come alone for the ride

s/12125404/1/Trial-by-Fire-a-Boeshane-Mate-Pt2


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